She lies, pushed back against a bed.
Hear her cries and know her pain.
She struggles to be free but is held down, legs spread.
Tears slipping from her eyes, a breath escapes her lips.
It is I that brings her such pain,
Emanating from between her thighs, her hips.
But I’m not sorry, so still I push and push-
And watch the sweat bead on her head and know,
I know. Her hands clenched into fists,
Eyes shut to all the pain. But still, I push and push
And hear her cries, feel her warmth and know,
I know. I cannot stop for the life of me,
Although it seems I should, or could. But there,
Lying back, writhing with pain, she knows,
She knows. I push harder and faster-
And the louder she moans. Then I, all alone
But not on my own, am out of her and-
All goes quiet, all goes still. One last sound.
One last sound is heard, the quiet sound of pain ending and then-
Relief, peace.
The first sound, and she knows,
She know, my cry.
