The Jagged Edges
The barbs she threw at him
left jagged edges on them both
torn from deep within herself
raw, bloody pieces of meat
hurled violently across the room,
the space, the endless time.
They cleaved to him, each one
slowly shrouding the man
until he became a prickly porcupine.
Some silent days, from weariness
would bring respite, closeness.
In intimacy, his spines
would prick her open wounds;
They could not help themselves,
They no longer had control.
And so they lived, or slowly died
behind soft lace curtains;
a bitter purgatory
on the jagged edges
of a new society.
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