I never once asked,
“Place me up high”.
I’d hoped,
mere potential for fun.
Yet eight hours following,
a fumble in bed,
Turns out,
you’re a cry-baby ‘one’.
I see distant eyes,
you’re far, far away,
Separate,
within a private fantasy.
Especially for me,
no room to spare,
Yet stood empty,
of all reality.
No Athena, no Eve,
I tire of saying,
No angel,
not your Mary or queen.
Listen! An ordinary girl,
one or two issues,
See? Just the same,
as I’ve always been.
So (please,) off your knees,
kiss not my toes,
Best go,
leave with a sterilised mind.
Ahead of the crash,
when I surely fall down,
You bitter,
mean and unkind.
God hear my prayers, protect me from fools!
© Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (story inspired by a collage)
Brinkinfield 