Fatal Moments

our heroes are conflicted hanging cross-wise riddled with choices pock-marks on their skin topographically hardened by the spirit of humanity from the instinctual urge to merge with all its urgent need, the feast of senses, those vital moments in the grace of salt-sweat the sticky sand in her bathing suit fingered open by an eager bull-dog marine on her beach of girlish dreams, he'd leave her there to shiver in anguish bloody with catholic guilt while the child she was, lay dying she sacrificed herself probing her wounds over 'n over for some strength in the sore points she couldn't avoid the larger mission by going into caves of martyrdom to float away on some dark ship of no return she didn't understand social expectations so became wrought by burden and a loss for words she'd refrain from back-room surgery not knowing the cold-cut of stainless steel nor redemption from her mothers religion her blood retreated in shame the lock was on the door so she bore me in the secret fear she couldn't bear anymore