LES LIAISONS DANGEREUSES
by Sophia Fox-Sowell
All the while, he said nothing. He looked nowhere.
His mindless gaze drifted from plate to plate
as he scrubbed the dishes with an old sponge.
My thoughts spiraled, like a stream of pebbles
cast into a silent spring—rippling chaos.
What did I say? I can’t even remember,
it all happened so fast.
Like lavender ice cream, his tongue was velvet in
my mouth, soft and luxurious as it ran across my
lips. I melted into him. He would bend me to his
will without breaking a sweat. At this point, I
could care less. I was quite malleable.
But it’s an eerie feeling, walking past a reflective
surface and not recognizing the face staring back.
There is no make up to hide the scar, the slash
he gave me beneath my cheekbone, just barely
missed my left eye.
This is the consequence of love.
There is no shell to shield you, no rock to hold
you anchor. You leave your protective safe hold,
and become a fraction of who you are.
That’s the only slice of me he sees, a silver sliver
of my harvest moon. He has no idea that around
its zenith lies a dark side with cavernous craters
whose steep cliffs trap me at rock bottom.
I want him to throw me a rope and help me
climb out of this hold and back into myself.
“Your picture’s crooked,” he whispered as he ran
his fingertips through my hair. “The frame’s
slipping on the right side.”
My whole world is slipping it’s been on a tilt
for some time now. A crooked line just a degree