C r u m b l e



Hundreds of memories
slide off my face
as fast as his lips catch them.

His fingertips wipe my nose;
it is red like
the inside of a steak.

Our bodies are intertwined,
pressed up against flowery wallpaper
that smells like mothballs.
Our crotches are
pressed fervently together.

I would be aroused
if only...

A wail escapes my mouth.
He smothers it
with a kiss.

My lips tremble.

\"I hate seeing you cry,\"
he whispers,
cradling my head
between his warm, damp hands.

He pulls back and sighs.

It\'s time.

He must go.

A shakey hand pushes
the elevator button.

Down.

The arrow is red.
The colour of blood
and of passion.

The elevator chimes
like a death sentence.
He steps in.

Our clasped hands
break pathetically,
our arms swinging down
beside our own bodies.

Already I can taste the lonliness
in my mouth.

I squeeze my eyes shut
against the tears
and my hand covers
my lips
to stop my scream.

He attempts a weak smile.

My lips try to form
three small words
but my tongue cannot
push them out in time.

The elevator doors close
with finality.

I cannot hear the squeek
of the elevator descending
through my sobs.




I crumble.