Suicide

My lover has many names.

And faces and fingerprints. He is full

of contradicting impressions.

My lover has known me all my life.

We have never seen each other, and he brings me my favourite flowers

always, but has forgotten I don’t drink coffee.

My lover and I have a child.

And I am barren, and we have never slept together, but

once we kissed, before I was born.

My lover is tall and blondly kind.

And he has black hair and grabs me

hard with thick hands.

My lover takes me out for expensive meals.

But he knows I have no stomach and cannot accept food. And

when I am hungry, he laughs.

MY lover says I am beautiful.

But he hates brunettes so I dye my hair, and pretending

he doesn’t recognize me, he touches my breast.

My lover lures me with his promise.

He knows I will trust him, and hating

me, he fills, sadistic.

My lover comes to my bed,

bursting with conceit and primed

for taking and for our concert.

My lover plays my wrist like a violin.

And the last music in me melting, I spread through the sheets,

like ink on a blotter.