Not Seen, But Heard

Cold

My bare feet,

stand on your chilled tile floor,

frozen in time.

my head is spinning,

blood coursing my veins,

adrenalin tingling at my fingertips,

raising the hair on the back of my neck.

my ears holding tight to 

every

last

assonance. 

sweetly prickling my skin.

fingers clench,

unclench.

knees weak,

like the ceiling,

like the walls,

like the cool tiled floor,

beneath my worn and wasted feet.

I tasted every word that was said,

and so felt every stinging blow.

I heard every feeling, and every thought,

splashed out onto your chilled tile floor,

like the purest make of water.

and i smiled at you

all the while,

because I knew it had been well worth it.

the tile chilling my bare feet,

and the assonance of the 

slammed door 

still ringing in my ears.