Moving on...

She sat there on the floor
Cross legged and sterile
Among jars of vacuum
That he left behind
As he moved away.


She’ll now breed on
one of them,
mud made and painted white,
Half naked slumbers of horny nights
And bring up another one
Who will grow up to call her a slut.


She’ll show him
Her skin depths
and match it
With his inherited mirth
for blood stained thighs.


She won’t moan a second time
Ecstasies are time bound and slippery


She would rather wash and sleep.






Comments

jawaharlal said…
Cogito ergo sum. Dear poet, let not your reason subdue the heart. Wish you good luck.
February 7, 2011 at 5:16 PM
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