She twisted into my hair
and tore through the peach-red
of my throat with dignified
blinded dry ease. There
are intense floods of souls
coming through this awful
narrative of sorrowed heart
romances, and they bite into
the leather-tanned bitterness
of my chapped open lips. They
burst her through my remonstrances,
pulling at their angry threads so
sloth slow that I couldn't notice
them in time to gather them
back away. They wove
her in between the taut-
resisting cotton of my
slackened memory and
recalled to me sweet-sour
devotion of girlhood slumber
parties and not so innocent
skinny-dipped lakes with their
rough burning rope-swing kisses
and pretend 'save me I'm
drowning in this deep end
confusion' touches. Because
she yanked me from desperation
to desperation and shoved me
in with the alligator crowds, I had
to run-quick in this every-man-
for-himself world, and always
wonder how gal-pal giggles
turn so rapidly into crush-me,
I'm-yours moans. You have
to struggle for breath in these
tree-felled floods, and kick out
until you hit the pebble strewn
ground to escape above these waves
of unmerciful abandonment.
She let me go too easily, I think.