In a vulgar exchange of thigh for mouth or lip for spine,
In the dark, it is so hard to spot the dotted "Sign Here" line.
Black ice slowly seeps through the floor and rests in my head
as I pick at the dampened seams of my dreams and sigh lies in your bed.
My breathing rattles by you as I fumble with my senses
There is no shocking list of unaccountable offenses...
But surely, something more than that.
Surely, something worse...?
Nights like this are not the kind of thing you can rehearse.
Whispered wants at the wishing well are lost to the wind this time.
The storm that's born inside you starts to rage and twist and climb.
I have no fire escape to hide on, no false-paneled wall to tap,
The strength of your elastic strain is a sign of when you'll snap.
You shackle soaring birds to feel control over their wings,
But you're as much a puppet as the fool who pulls the strings.
© Catherine Hamilton
23/09/10
