don’t say...

“Don’t say goodbye”
she whispered during the 30 second black out
of her hands around my throat
kissing the skin with bruises and nail moons

I was a painting of her rage
the canvas never blank
occasionally primed haphazardly
for the next dousing of lighter fluid
spat out into the atmosphere
to land sharply - depicting the contours
of what would come to be a black eye

And I - always painted
in yellow and purple and broken skin
to the soundtrack of my own screams
an eternal echo “I’m not coming back”
my hair ripping in her manicured grasp
lost in the mercilessness of spilt blood
on a white tiled floor

And there’s nothing as delicate
as the touch-up kisses on a work of art
that’s a flame away from spontaneous combustion
the flurry of brushwork enough to blend
the bitter edge into submission and oblivion
to hang meekly upon the wall
positioned for private viewage only

“Don’t say goodbye”
she whispered during the 30 second black out
of her hands around my throat
before my palm sought the cartilage in her nose
to paint a new day with

© Indie Adams 2012