Quiet

The sound between the silk tie, crimson map and straight lie.

His fingers brushed her skin
almost tenderly this time.
He finished untying the knots,
admiring the crimson map
of his careful art.

Then he smiled—soft enough
to make her lungs stop.
He looked down at the
bruises, the bite marks, the cuts,
mixed reverently with his
spit, sweat, and cum.

Maybe you could stay this time,
daddy?
Not for long, you know.
Just until my heart
learns how to beat again?

Maybe you could sit with me,
my moon and my stars?
Do you think
you could do that?
Without hurting anything this once?

Maybe you could tend the wounds,
sweetheart?
Not to heal them—
but just to keep me
from leaking out?

Maybe we could watch the sun go down,
pumpkin?
Not because you love me,
but to see if you’d enjoy
the way my chest raises by sunrise?

Maybe you could take me to the zoo,
baby?
Not to prove we’re together.
I’m not possessive at all.
I know I’m just one in the cage.

Maybe you could hear how broken I am,
love?
Not to fix or absolve me,
I’m beyond repair
even though you’re my saint.

She whispered all of it
so softly that only the pillow
could hear her demise.

She watched him
step back into his life.
Tightening the laces.
Knotting the silk tie.
Smoothing the hair.
Straightening the lie.

Finally closing the door.
From the outside.

While she howled
like a wounded doe—
a sound too quiet
for a human
to survive.

Dusty Ray Art