Monday 18 January 2010

Untitled ,

It was that last summer - so
disgustingly hot and clammy; our
wet hands stuck together - when
you made a commitment.
Were you so insane? Your disobedience
snapped me like a baby twig;
not quite full-grown.

It was that brown autumn - so
dry - with the trees reminiscent of
dripping chocolate, a colour
so distinct in my flattened memories of
you. For how long could you
push me? How long before I was
no longer a girl (to kiss with bruised
knuckles) but
a smear on your rear-view mirror?

It was that drawn, pale winter - so
sad - its white disposition weeping
milky glass tears into
my palms, when you raped me
under the black moonless
night, stripping me of all dignity and
self-respect.

It was that yellow spring – so still and
new – when you hammered
sharpened utensils
into my heart.