I lay in the yard newly green
While the spring sun warmed me,
And through closed eyes
I saw red shadows.
He was with me there,
Lying by my side, breathing in time.
But he felt cold to me, like a
Dying sign of winter.
Moving from my side, he sat cross-legged,
Head dropped, eyes missing the
Swaying of the lawn.
He pulled the grass blades with despair,
And I could feel them crying.
He never cried when I hurt him,
But his eyes would penetrate and kill.
With a fistful of anger, he leaned over me,
And while kissing my lips,
Threw the grass down my shirt.
His mouth had felt like a frosted window pane
Which longs for the warmth inside.
I denied him any satisfaction by not reacting,
And I could feel the torn grass
Weeping within me.