~storm

the pitch of night is sweating me

again.

& I remember

how he strangled the light

from june

I remember the way he grunted

adjectives

&

the angle he spread my hip

sockets

&

how my breath bounced off

the stubble of his long

voice

& he's an anathema at the back of

my throat

I still can't allow myself

to swallow

a collection of black & blue reflections

that stare at me, echo in

my mirror

I try to pry myself from this wreckage I keep

bandaged like wounds

that won't heal

I see his face on the street, wearing the skin

of other men

& I wonder if my body will always

remember

what my mind will never

forget

or if one day my name might

break open

so all the colors of the storm

escape

lah  5.7.17 ©