Prison
© 2003 Black Tangled Heart

Bruised ivory thighs crushed by his weight; broken

Blood vessels and lips as tears flow silently

down her cheeks

(there are no melting mauve candles; soft music doesn't play

no passionate kiss on her collarbone or tender

caress)

Her eyes are filled with terror

Onyx pools glimmering

She can't scream

(there is a wedge named guilt

inside her throat)

He wants to get it over with

(shallow thrusts initiated

impersonal hotel room

dirty woollen curtains

Thursday evening)

He pants heavily into her neck pressing

Unpolished fingertips on her chest

(he calls her Ingrid

her name is Mae)

And when euphoric stupor bursts forth

He lays in lethargy

Not noticing the blood-smeared sheets below her fragile

Body crushed into the mattress

(she may as well have been a dead

flower between forefinger and thumb)

he leaves her torn and

stained

a vessel filled with deceit

(and saline fluid

herpes, chromosomes

she names the baby Kylie)