The clichéd shower the next morning
left skin bloodied jerky
hot with brush burns and soap stains.
This doesn’t happen to concrete walls,
but even the Berlin fell.
But months later when another
whispers “darling” to me
my squinted flushed cheeks
flinched.
******, *****, prostitutes
know many. But none
are names like this.
Cause when I let him run
his mesh palms
over my face. I choked
on the dust
of all the memories
I ground and blew away,
dandelion seeds.
It burned as acid
fingers mounted my throat
and a thumb of needles
sewed my mouth
shut with embroidered thread
made of beer condensation.
The inebriated venetian blinds
reared and “shush please don’t”
swam the air, as the pacific poured
from my eyes. I said to her
“You let him strap me to his back,
a saddle pack filled with jars
of intoxication”
She said “Its not like he ***** you.”