red booth

Your lover’s web traps my heart, and you fit
like a longing hand into a warm and welcoming glove.

You engage me with your white-toothed smile, 
your wave of thick, brown hair, and those deep, almond eyes.

My skin chills at the call of my name as you flip the collar of
your worn, scented leather jacket - and we dance before the door. 

We walk with our sun shadows bracing the wind funnels 
from the skyscrapers of the concrete city.

And, at midnight’s madness, we take the town by moonbeam.

As autumn dies, your true essence emerges, and I detest your 
selfish words and my needy stupidity.

But I turn a blind eye as love, too, is blind.

Then, caustic words discharge from your bloody mouth,
emitting slivers of sour spit, which nestle in my salty wound.

The heat of the poker repeatedly jabs and hacks,
causing a simmering, disfigured wedge of my heart to be dislodged.

By what name does your Beast care to be known?
I need to long retain its memory in my remorse.

I shall never fathom to explain why you willfully inflicted 
such damage to my heart.

I shall never forget, and I shall never survive, I once wrote.
 
 

- Beth L. Block