Sand

She always spoke as though her entire life
was matter-of-fact.
"You never touch me anymore."
"I never touched you to begin with."
"Why do you bother looking at me
if you don't intend to touch me?"

Perhaps men
crumbled
at her feet,
once.

Perhaps they
sank
below her like
the very sand
she tread
upon,

the dust of
her lies and
shallow
ignorance
in
all
things
sacred.

"I'm too old for this."
"You're twenty-six."
"I'm too old for this."
"You never touch me anymore."

I
never
should
have
let
her
touch
me.