at night, I’m prone
(as I’ve been told
by various lovers,)
to raise my arms to the sky,
limp wristed, in undead fashion
and speak in tongues
(or “simlish”, as one put it)

some nights I may jump up
and scream
like that scene in the exorcist,
I must be muzzled, like
a rabid dog, maybe
while being gently lulled back to sleep, I’ll cry
why are you touching me, please don’t touch me, no

and in the morning I’ll wake up, brush my teeth
do my make-up and say good morning, honey
I made coffee, I put it in your favorite mug
blissfully unaware of the night before

in short, I would like to apologize
to my lover and for
frightening roommates
all across Austin

Sophia Tempest is a poet and the founding editor of giallo lit. Her work has appeared in Honey & Lime, Lammergeier, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. Her debut chapbook, A LAMB HANGS BY ITS OWN FOOT, was released with Ghost City Press in 2019.