The line of a leg parallels shoulder blades:
I cradle him within the shell of myself
As he digs the hole in me deeper and deeper
Searching for absolution in the dirt.
And if women are supposed to be small,
I am overgrown, outside myself
Watching my hands twist uselessly in thin air.
He nuzzles against me, and I know
That he is taking what he needs, though
It is not what I want. He is senseless.
And for the first time I hear the word of God
Speaking war into my ear, but I am no soldier:
I harbour the enemy between my thighs
Caged in his weight: his muscular bars
Will haunt me for years, turn me into himself,
Fighting on the battlefield of my own body,
Tracing the marks that he left:
Making them my own.
