I REMEMBER

I remember the heat of him as he’d

Push up against me, gin-fouled and

Smelling of Camel Wides.

“I love you, baby,” he’d say.

“You stink,” I’d remark.

He’d give the bar-story of a

Thousand words, dripping sour

Onto my breasts as he moved

Closer to my lips.

“Stop, I don’t want to.” I’d push.

He’d pull and snuggle into my neck,

Hoarse-whispering the reasons why I should.

“You’re drunk. Stop.”

“Oh, come on, baby. I love you.”

He’d convince me I owed him.

My mind would Empty. My body would open.

My soul would pour out, dry and brittle,

So over-used, leaving me hollow and cold.

Shame and humiliation would

Enter with him, gnaw at me,

Devour me with sharp, jagged teeth.

****

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