at least
in the end,
you were polite
about it.*

your hand
rests gently
on the back of my neck,
nails rough and worn
as you trace your way
down the length of my spine,
turning each ****
with a definite crack and caress
until you reach the curves
of my hips
and dig in.
sorry. *i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i'm sorry. *
my name, something other
than a curse, the words
just hovering
between the space of your lips
as one of us, i'm not sure who,
starts to cry.
we are left with
your hand on my heart,
knife on my gullet,
lips pressed softly to my cheek
in prayer
as you apologize once more,
and the moment
where everything pauses

and i brace myself
for the impact.