cattle brand

he pushes his hands against your hands
but doesn't stop there; he pushes them against
your skin, and forces them into your hair
he wants to see the breaking of blood vessels,
wants to feel the depths of your veins, and you're
such a good subject that you don't say anything.

you don't regard yourself as very much; and at
the end of his touch, he will say something in
a soothing voice. you are sure that it used to be
something along the lines of 'I love you,' but now
it's deteriorated into sounds. you don't complain,
however, because you're always caught under the
weather - and with a dizzy, desert sun, you force
yourself to stay spun. so when he says 'mmh,' you
just nod, as if a punching bag bouncing back, as if
a cobra about to lunge. you stay still, and wait
'til the shut of the door. you're stuck like this,
cattle branded, forever and ever more.