Her dreams haunt her lately
And like the portrait of a woman that sits still in her mother’s hallway
She waits
And watches them drift by –
hoping her lover wont notice the way her muscles tense
and her eyes fight to squeeze shut and open to safety at the same time
She’s beautiful, but she’s not sure he knows this
not sure he holds more than a fraction of her wholeness
The nightmares
Have stripped awareness
and the differentiation of memory and story
Blackberry cinnamon buns drip down her fingers as she sings him sweet and sticky songs-
Too much sugar he says-
I take my tea clear
And my coffee black
But she knows he cant imagine what hes bargaining for,
Or what she was like before she was sweetened…
These streets hold more than history
They hold the scars that lay hidden between thighs
And the regret carried around like a torn wallet
- All of your worth just seems to keep falling out….
Have you ever seen a dog that’s been beaten so badly
they cower at even the slightest of attention
Affection never comes with promises of comfort
When you’ve been kicked in the stomach
Left bare to the world ---
They spent the days talking about direction
And the nights about sex
‘it seems fitting, doesn’t it?’
The way he could fuck her like a woman who’s morning face would never be seen
But that’s not right
And he only ever had the best of intentions
One day they would look back and say
‘what a shame, that she sent him away before the day could break on their kind of love’
But I’ll tell you one thing
I don’t want to be the woman from the story above
- you’ve given me your arms to fall asleep in
And for right now that’s close enough to love.
