Caricature of Intimacy
I lick my lips
and taste my own blood.
Lying on the bathroom floor,
I am helpless.
I cannot move.
My arms feel heavier than all the steel in Manhattan,
I cannot feel my legs
though I know they must be there,
I can see my shoes with the heels broken off,
clothing discarded in a fit of passion,
laying across the bedroom floor.
The mirror is shattered,
my mind struggles to understand.
I cannot remember last night,
I cannot see out of my left eye.
Maybe I’ll just lay here for a while longer,
and taste my own blood.
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