Obsidian Heart

I remember a time
when I was the sweet berry juice
You imbibed that overflowed
your lips onto your chin.
You were drunk
in  love for me,
And ravenously
consume my essence.  
A time when we would
enjoy one another
like bees among flowers,
Pollinating  
A time before the 'we' became the 'you'
And 'I' became the afterbirth
of your still born love.


Had it occurred to you
to be more generous
Your feet would not
have become cut
From the eggshells
you were walking on.
So I became the chore
Of your egregious choice.
A mundane thing to fix
When the mood suited you.
Or maybe hung up
By the kitchen door,
Like another set of keys
Ready to be discarded.


Day by day,
Your words strike.
Magmatic explosions
of hot gray pumice
would tear flesh
into newspaper palm trees.
The heart  liquefied,
Condensed to brittle black glass.
On your Pompeii playground,
Your ball-peen tongue
shatters and scatters.


In the protected
silence of my pain,
I'm picking up the broken
pieces of my obsidian heart.
    Red ribbon fingers bleeding,
    Red ribbon fingers bleeding
   onto blackened shards.
I  weep in the shower
so you won't hear.
I  watch my tears
circle the drain,
flow to the sea,
discarded,
forgotten,
lost.