She had convinced herself
there were better men to suit her
moth like temperament.
More appropriate for her vibrancy
Over several days she had grown
of the click of his belt buckle,
how his teeth tore rabidly
at his fingernail skin
and his tendency to belittle her
visions of the future.
Visions already planned and
produced, projected onto pale, dying
She wished and wished.
Wished a switch into existence,
one which tripped the lights,
blew the bulbs –
plastic shattered shards
thrown into disarray,
and restarted her heart.
She was convinced there was a man
made for her fiery pits
and emotional debt.
Made to touch her
and soothe her woe.
Woe which spirals like a wind chime
in a hurricane;
she twists, contorts until paralyzed
beneath the bedsheets.
Heavy as lead,
left for several hours or days
where love is…
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