TheRapist

Therapist

"Spread your mind," he said,
"I like it on top." And his garlicky breath put the steam on the window
as the rain fell outside - "You will talk to me now,"
how I liked velvet cushions
they would cover the sound of my genes ripping open
cause the zipper would catch when I tried to breathe honest
and his time was so dear it would melt any second.

"here's a tissue," he said,
"no no, don't stop." And his fingers would move, squeeze my chest like a pillow
taking water from stone, "keep my head above water"
how the wind tore my cries
it would slam the door and my pulse- it would echo,
sneak a look at my watch, dragging time across deserts.

"here's your lesson," he said,
"write it down if you like." And his words brand my cheeks with their critical sepsis
how I want to go home and begin my forgiving
how I need to go home and forgive the beginning
but I'm here on the couch with my pink belly showing
and the scars from the last time still shining, still singing.
"I will be back next week, next disaster, next lifetime,"
for some more of the same, cause the pain keeps me hoping.