Tuesday, March 16, 2010

St. Anastasia Patricia

hands that never stop reaching,

grabbing for the peaches under

my dress, trembling at the thought

of getting so close to what they want.

run from this. from you. I left days

ago, hiding within my own body.

I reply to you with the same eyes

as yesterday, rustle in my sleep as

you wrap your arms around my waist.

a shudder in my heart. clenched teeth

cry out from their little white homes.

when you touch me, I lie still. that breast

is not mine and neither is the mouth you

press your lips against. I feel nothing.

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