sharp turns

Here are three stanzas from my poem, sharp turns:

he used to love when I phoned him on purpose

not a purse call

not a pocket

when he answered

my breath, his sigil

 

when did we change?

did we evolve gracefully

a car eased into a curve

accelerated out

did we take sharp turns

throw each other to the doors

did we leave bruises

aches

sore muscles

tears

blood

scars

do we both still deserve our angels?

 

sound

none

in our storm black room

except 475 thread count sateen torn

by nails

on feet

too long for this bed

and turns

and breath

in

out

 

© 13 December 2020

Cindy B. Stevens

 

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