Death of a Sadist

My every breath forces you away,
Yet each exhalation is matched,
By the fullness of your return.
And when I run so far,
I can no longer breathe.
Speechless, wheeze-gasping,
You calmly whisper me back.

Just like before.

Our tides ebb and flow,
Ranging waves lap,
Fluxing eternities on the shore.
Against timbered pier legs,
Dry-wet, dry-wet and dry again,
Your barnacled clinging grip,
Weighs heavy my supportive frame.

Just like before.

Choking, vain efforts I writhe,
Striking out for invisible points.
Curved horizons, defying geography,
Just once.
If once, I made its measure,
I might jump and be free,
But surf roughs between the edge and here.

Just like before.

Of bruises, scratches, fractured bones,
I’ve lied, I’ve tripped on stairs at home.
And friction burns from ropes you tied,
Were mystery rashes and woe betide,
The one who queried how I got,
Those slashes on my wrists and thighs.
I lied.

Just like before.

But then tonight,
At way past, long gone Witching hour.
A plan my seasoned nest brings forth.
And mine the tightening grasp,
Whose now the sallow pleading brow?
As weighted, razory barnacled grip,
Seizes back my life in taking yours.

Not like before.

Yes, every breath takes you away,
And all exhalation unmatched,
By the emptiness of your return.
And now I stay so close, you cannot breathe.
Speechless, wheeze-gasping,
You, timidly pleading, whimper back.
But I whisper “No!”

Not like before.

(2015)