Helpless times past.

And the way I saw you, saw your skin and the way you moved.
Silky, smooth, soft, susceptible.

This atrocity we created in my dwelling, white shirts like flags on bedposts and trousers on the floor like masks we shed to see your insides; our goal and destination.

Your bones jutted out like the corners of that wooden chest in our living room, and I could tell you hadn’t been eating. You smiled (I couldn’t believe it), like you were proud.

You have always scared me, you’re like a spectre resonating from one edge of my retina to the other, a beautiful wanton creature.