My head drumming the desk is an eternal tinnitus.
Not a thwack or a thud. More a thump.
Unhesitant, horrid thump, fusing with life’s horizon,
oscillating against my future’s trajectory.
World doesn’t crash, but soul peels in half,
I still laugh. Thump, thump, thump.
It thrums. Intense, fading, never gone.
Decades later, ghostly thumps still hum and hammer my heart.
Soft headboard, not hardboard,
mattress, not marble,
partner, not predator,
I console myself,
salvage the pleasures of consensuality.
Yet the thumps haunt, linger until last, alongside scars cast.