Galleon Beach Winter 2020
his words
his song
his touch.
His playfulness
and laughter.
When he went dark and quiet
I sat with him
until
I felt like I wasn’t enough.
And then I left.
He drew me back with
the comfort of words I wanted to hear
his familiar songs
the soft touch of his hand.
And then he went
dark,
violent
and
destructive
and I hid
my very being.
The wind is like an abusive lover.
