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Butter and Balsam
She hears again his guttural sob
as he orgasms behind her.
Between his muscles and her anima -
butter and balsam.
She spreads herself,
makes herself parts to be used.
Afterward,
his hurried dressing,
his indifferent coldness.
Then, as usual, he leaves her
for that bony
with halitosis.
One cigarette after another;
she draws the smoke into her lungs,
into her belly, feels the fumes
turning to vengeful wraiths.
She opens drawers
tossing his clothes,
anything that smells of him.
She wants to write letters,
raw accusatory letters
to his pride --- his bull-S soul
She imagines following him,
demanding violent sex
just to use him up.
One last warm splash,
one more flick of her wrist,
then turning away swiftly,
deleting him out of her life
forever.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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