[Originally written May 25, 2006]
He saw her hand reaching out of the water, just as her head was about to go under.
He pointed and stared, mesmerized by the horrible beauty.
He laughed when she said she liked the feeling of the caterpillar’s soft coat.
Told her she was a child, though not with words.
He had no regard her desire for life, her willingness to survive.
Discarded like yesterday’s trash, moldy with guilt and fear.
He ignored the subtleties of what was to be, amused by the irony,
Un-tempted by fate.
He blamed his happiness on her,
And she was punished for his pain.
He tortured her soul with incorrigible dignity,
And watched in pleasure as she pulled the sticky cobwebs from her hair.
Spindly fingers, twisted and struggled.
She believed in him, and in his belief in her
and blindly cloaked herself in his sincerity,
Becoming the standing joke of the year.
She bathed in his lavish scent, primal and deep.
”How nice things smell before they burn…”
He left her tattered and worn, and handed her a broom.
She picked up the pieces of his misery, and carried them next to her heart.