The Illusion of Slaves

I wanted to part your lips with my tongue and your chest with a dagger.
To get at your heart.
To wrap myself around it and sew you back up over me.
I tied back long blond locks and floral dresses.
There was love in my hair and hope in my palms.
You knew me better.
You ripped that shining glow from my shoulders and I stood there.
Bare for you
and I meant it
and wore it naked.

I picked up the clothes from the floor after you left and the outside ripped through me and chilled my bones,
rattled them.
The dress was dirty then and torn,
so I went out and bought some darkness and delighted in the tights whenever they ripped.
I joined cats in the backwaters.
Hungering and hovering for strangers to dice me up.
I watched their mouths while I stood choking
and my scalp tingled in their fists.
And their fingers.
They were rough, hard and everywhere.
It was a cold growl in a hell where the fire had long gone out.
And I learned about the sea when I went back to the water.
You know I did.
And I swam to be driving with you again.
To a no-mans land.
Making lists.
‘10 people you hate and why’.
With my feet free and my toes playing on the dashboard.
The wind tussling my hair in excitement and repeating myself over the loudspeakers’ gospel to us
and wearing each others smiles again with pride.