Issue Twenty-Five - Winter 2015

In Bed

By H. R. Webster

talking nonsense into the down  
you call me your horse girl
because I am big & blond
and simple in my cruelty. 

your cruelty anything but 
simple—feathers clutch
your collarbone—
you like to smoke
grass and talk about 
the hearts I had broken.
				I could never 
				Love you 
you say 
hands at the whisper of my hem.  
				I could never make love to you
they pass the solemn hollows
of my knees.

Copyright 2015 Webster

H. R. Webster is a current MFA candidate at the Helen Zell Writers Program at the University of Michigan. Webster's work has appeared in Harlequin Creature, Dirtcakes Magazine, The Bicycle Review, and La Voz.

All work by