Black pupils envelop your iris, and I wish
That I could forgive your caressing hand, and
our lips would reacquaint and release as we crease the sheets

With salty tears and reconciled sense, but silence
ensues after your massage; you get the message
and sink deep into the  bed, your head

turned away from my cold shoulder; and I'm caught, not
sure if my resignation was worth your shirt, my skirt
not being flung full force on the floor-- more

even to say we could embrace, your face
on the space between my face and my chest; rest
no more, I'm ready to supplicate! but Fate
would say, "your hearts sleep awoken and broken in a fight, tonight."