He just sat there.
Smiling
Mind processing
while the sage burned.
Recalled events
of moments since
as if a page turned.
He was never one to discern
over the concern
that would predictably ensue
from what he would assume
they both wanted to do.
Nothing new
to them.
It was cool
to him:
She would tug at his hem;
pulling at threads worn thin
and begin ripping;
tearing away
at his clothes
as if to liberate his skin
before taking him in.
Temperature ignored
as handful
after handful
mingle with the floor.
Open pores contract
and gasp
and his hands clasp her breasts
before she is pressed against glass
and words dissolve into letters.
Playful smirk as he cleans the mirror.
One recalls
but the other
knows better.
Woeful sigh as she cleans the mirror.
Fear dissolved her words into letters
from being forcefully pressed against glass.
Feeling unclean.
Dirty from his hands
that would angrily clasp her breasts.
With painful gasps,
her stomach would contract
before its contents mingled with the floor.
She can still hear his demand for more
as he stripped handful
after handful
while her pleas were ignored.
Before pushing his way in
with a startling grin,
he would leave marks
and scratches
and bruises on her skin
that her clothes -
now worn thin
could no longer contend with.
Would try to push away from him with
the fleeing strength of the frightful.
To him:
It was delightful.
To her:
It was a spiteful occurrence.
Nothing new.
Just something she'd come to rue
every time that she assumed
that she wouldn't be consumed
by a thought so violently exhumed
that she can't help but be concerned with.
The depression of such discernment
that he convinced her she earned
with every attempt she makes
to turn the page.
Events that make her wince
while she burns the sage;
trying hard to chase away the hurt
and his rage
but that process alone is trying
enough throughout the fits of crying
so she just sat there.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
but the other
knows better.
Woeful sigh as she cleans the mirror.
Fear dissolved her words into letters
from being forcefully pressed against glass.
Feeling unclean.
Dirty from his hands
that would angrily clasp her breasts.
With painful gasps,
her stomach would contract
before its contents mingled with the floor.
She can still hear his demand for more
as he stripped handful
after handful
while her pleas were ignored.
Before pushing his way in
with a startling grin,
he would leave marks
and scratches
and bruises on her skin
that her clothes -
now worn thin
could no longer contend with.
Would try to push away from him with
the fleeing strength of the frightful.
To him:
It was delightful.
To her:
It was a spiteful occurrence.
Nothing new.
Just something she'd come to rue
every time that she assumed
that she wouldn't be consumed
by a thought so violently exhumed
that she can't help but be concerned with.
The depression of such discernment
that he convinced her she earned
with every attempt she makes
to turn the page.
Events that make her wince
while she burns the sage;
trying hard to chase away the hurt
and his rage
but that process alone is trying
enough throughout the fits of crying
so she just sat there.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
