Hung

her picture hangs on your wall

inches from your face,

a marker of place and time,

of unspoken worth.

her picture hangs on your wall

expression unchanging,

eyes staring,

colours unmoved by the dying light.

her picture hangs on your wall

in silent protest,

commanding more than just these 4 by 6 inches of white washed walls

her picture hangs on your wall

and i sit in the corner

waiting for you to call my name.

I lay waiting

sleep pushed from my eyes,

the world moves swiftly outside my window,

cars slowed by rain, feet hurried.

water falling softly keeps time,

limbs stretched between warm sheets and heavy breath,

thoughts fast, words slow.

curtains drawn, door closed

chaos and demand are kept distant a while longer,

a body unmoved by sound, a mind disquieted by silence.

alone, i lay waiting,

my legs unwilling to join the hurried feet

my heart unable to sit in silence.

i fear that which i have already seen

and revisit in sleep each night.

i fear the weight of words already spoken,

and their taste on my tongue.

i fear the pain of your embrace,

and questions that surround me.

sleep pushed from my eyes,

the world moves swiftly outside my window,

and i lay waiting.

Morning

Mouth dry,

a quiet moan,

eyes open slowly...

up then down.

Heavy and warm,

your leg stretched across my hip,

and I remember where I am.

Back arched, I curl into you,

cradled between your breasts,

lips finding your skin...

up then down.

And I know, with the steady beat of your heart,

that I am safe,

and that I have known love,

this love,

and have want for no other.

Pain's Game

Pain's game is hard to drown...

in empty bottles,

and full meals,

in late nights,

and tired mornings,

in senseless rage

and fitful laughter,

in love made

and bodies betrayed -

beads of sweat now cold,

with scents that cling too tightly -

to unwashed hands

unclean souls

Pain's game is hard to endure...

all cards on the table,

no hand left to play.

She Cries

She cries for the girl who once loved her,

who stopped long enough to listen,

and heard what was so terribly wrong.

She cries for the soul she touched,

who touched her,

and fears she won't ever again.

She cries,

bleeding and screaming,

for all the things she's not,

can't or won't be.

She cries,

fearing this is all she will ever know,

be or hear.

She cries,

pleading for it to be different,

knowing rest can only be found when she opens her eyes.