.Street.Lights.

In his drunken eyes and with rugged wording, he pushes me against the wall, breathing heavy on my neck, my heart is beating, one winged bird, so fast, a blur. His hands, down my trousers, bruises are beginning to blossom on my pelvis.

We are embraced, one body making beautiful monstrous shapes, our mouths are dry and the door is banging, his wife, a small stream of her tears, mascara diluted, trickling under the door, damping the soles of my feet. He passes out; my posture slackens as he falls to the ground, my shadow, sad, naked and desolate.

Breaking bones and souls, too much love to control, too many feelings without name, a heart with a fist and a mind with a gun.

Lying under the sky, he rubs his wife’s belly, feeling the life that will soon breathe, the wishes he wishes, the boundaries he will soon instil, to follow street lights rather than stars.