stalagmite

Snipers at the windows,
not his eyes but a tsunami of sulphur sneaking through skin.
Slipped into the spit of his kiss.
Taste the sting, snap nettles in your palms just to see it.
Shoulder to shoulder, her skin is silk.
Someone told me to step back and to wait.
Some sympathiser sits on the street
slitting vowels and shredding sounds,
a symphony or a cacophony;
something she can’t understand.
Spitting cherry seeds down the slates below.
His silhouette but times ten, and again and again,
stagnant and sneering. Sipping cold blood.
A slug sucks the substance clean and leeches somewhere new.
Love slithers like the silver of a sweetheart slip,
shimmying until six in the morning
sedated with sick, settled in filth.
There’s my heartbreak.
Sugar stains; his spit on her sheets.
Simple sheath of silent skin bruised so easily,
she cried so loudly. A scream or a saxophone,
something steals her nerve; she screeches to a halt.
Sharp pools of shallow breath, not enough to drown in.
He sneers. Ice between teeth. Slime on the tongue
lapping up her sweat,
Snail slobber secreted on her neck.
A suspended psyche in a disordered aisle swings from the ceiling.
Wait to be told to swallow it hole. Her limbs in a knot,
scathed skin surfacing on the seam of your inside,
scratched deep and simpering
whimpering she slept.