UNTITLED (c. fair)

Like a razor-thin fish
my mind
speeds to the top
pushes up towards a light
near the surface.
My fingers graze
the underbelly of
the sea's surface
then break into air
and I awaken
with him inside
of me.
The intensity on his face
tells me not to say no.
His eyes know I won't.
I say nothing.

On all fours
my head hangs
gesturing in rhythmic motion
with his body.
Like the ocean's waves
driving into and retreating from
the ends of the earth.

Now he has my arms
pulling me to him;
pulling himself into me
so violently
I can't decide
if he loves me
or hates me
or both, each because of the other.
My mind is empty.
My eyes are closed.
My body is
full
of
him.

His sweat trickles onto my back.
Liquid shards of glass
that cut too deeply
into my flesh.

I'm no longer alive.
He stepped inside my head
and consumed me
from inside out.
It's over.

And we sleep
together
on the moon
with the brilliance of the TV
illuminating
our glowing sweat bodies.

I guess no one is perfect.

Christine Fair ©

Stine113@aol.com