made me sour,
not flower. Once, a rose
garden, but like the ground
in winter I hardened.

Your love
made me curdle,
not fertile. Cut
to a stump,
a place a man
plumps down
his ****, a farce!

Your love
made me whittle. I turned
brittle and cracked. Now I'm
half of a woman. Not silky,
but woolen.

Your love
turned me spastic. Stretched me out
as an elastic I lost all my shape. I stand flat
as a crepe.