At Night

the past
returns to me

from my bed
to my head

the raspy voices of
all my lovers
meld together

forming
a maddening cacophony

of grunts
snorts
sighs
cries

inhales
exhales
chuckles
giggles

the nuances of
paramours before
still discernable

despite the flood
of whispered lies
and half-truths

that characterize
every one