He Promises Tomorrow

By Pietra Dunmore

These days,

I sleep in the bed alone.

my man won’t come to bed

Instead, he has a drink of Bulleit Rye

and a cigar

There was a time he couldn’t keep his hands off me

He would touch me with his fingertips,

his lips on the middle of my back

That time is not now

I try to show him

what it means to touch me

He promises tomorrow,

but tomorrow never comes.

Pietra Dunmore writes short stories, creative non-fiction, and poetry. Her writing has appeared in Pine Hills Review, The Intersection, Hippocampus Magazine, The Journal of New Jersey Poets, Rigorous, and Human Parts. Website:pietradunmore.net IG: @pietradunmore FB: @PietraDunmore