Music Box

Spinning in her music box day after day to ‘Dance of the Little Swans’
The years spinning alone on the window ledge left her faded by the sun
Her dress scorched from the fierce heat only intensified by the glass
Twisting and turning in the dusky light
Perfecting her piques and plies (Nancies not a real ballet dancer or French).
A sudden scutter
A chill scales Nancies backbone
Twirling, a flash whip hooks her ankles
Coiling, bound, restricted
The music box, she’s on parole
Meticulously he cuts
Leaving her threadbare
In pastel yellow knickers
Frozen numbness
Out of her body, she watches, curious
Catching a glimpse of her insignificance
A kitchen knife will do
A gash just big enough for him to plunge in his hand
Fingers curling around her heart and yanks
She cocks her head, smiles a half-smile, a quiet joy
Lifting the dripping red organ
Benevolent, with her fragility
Blackened and singed edges
Cinders fall on your notebook
Saved for when we would send letters in charcoal
Foolish notes back and forth
You stitch up the raw crevices and valleys with the hair from your head
I’m wincing, but I can’t run anymore
You bathe me and whisper I’m really not dead
Spreading her legs, your fingers intrude
Perfectly crude and tactless
She leaks and she leaks and she leaks
but it’s not enough, it will never be enough to keep her alive
Cutting your wrist
You paint her a smile from ear to ear
Ruffling in your suitcase
A cream antique lace dress
You dress me like a china doll
Blood red lips,
blonde messy hair
And you wind her up
And you tell her to dance for you and alone
You slap her, you feed her your spittle and your tongue
Tangling your fingers in her nest
Pushing your fingers into her mouth, opening her to take you
As you release your buckle, invade her mouth,
with every push, every suck, she moves a little more
The blood rushes to her cheeks and her eyes a peridot green glaze and sparkle
Your salty warmth, drips down her throat and she is engorged on you, just you
And you keep on looking after her, grooming and caring
She rests her head on your belly and whispers all her secrets
Into your chalice without any malice
And you tell her….
And she won’t ever believe you
So you do it all again day after day
You’ll lick away her tears again and again and again