xii. friction
i can't recall who moved first
but all of a sudden, he was there
searing fingerprints
into my skin
and bruising lips apart
and there was only
friction
in his voice
and in his anger
and in him
but nothing quite as
harsh
as our hearts
grating against each other
for power.
they always said the tender
hurt the most.
YOU ARE READING
jean chains
Poetry"you were different." © 2014 StealTheWorld - All rights reserved.
