I am not your enemy     he said     but I would never share a home with you     I don’t want to feel you pressed against my body the heat of your blood warming my bones     the pounding of your heart stirring an acceleration within my chest         I don’t want to see the paleness of your eyes in my mirror each morning     as I wash the crust from my own     or your bottle of opened wine     carelessly discarded on the floor next to my chair     alongside a book that I have no memory of ever reading     the page corners turned down         your hasty notes scribbled in the margin in green ink         illegible to my unaccustomed glance

I shiver at the thought of your presence         ghostly in your cunning infiltration     intimate as the bandages that seal me from the malignancy of your world.