Generosity,
thy name is woman...

I shrugged back on my scanty shirt
and told you to whisk away...

The crucifix
is lodged like a stick in our eyes...

Freedom is a crushed cerebral cortex,
the silencing of human nature...

The women cry through day and night,
they bathe in sundry tears...

We drank a toast on our wedding night,
yours pierced with cyandide...

Those freckled runes he carves
on his wrists...

Here we are again.
Steeped in the night’s cool and lucid...

For weeks or months-
(its all the same...

The day punched me like a thug.
In the blinding white canteen...

Nymph of the plaited tresses,
your eyes gleam like garnet honey...

I scrub and scrub
but still the blood pours down...