Love always reached me
in the form of an abyss
at the end of my bed
and I could feel the body next to me
pushing me to the edge of
intimacy, when I know it's all just a promise
of being held once he's used me
for target practice– my spine
nearly breaking under
his nearly-virgin hands
as he finds the parts of me
where I am less crystalised, less
silent, less a Bolshie Feminist
and more a hairless animal
with self-inflicted wounds
and a taste for fanged caresses.
