Birds.

He began with smooth words,
gentle hands.
A deep fascination with birds,
I watched them fly from land.

He started with a kiss,
cold lips.
That was the start of the abyss,
the birds dip.

He initiated a touch,
bruised thighs.
Only he to clutch,
unable to fly.

He slowed with a fist,
swollen eye.
Stuck in the mist,
the birds fell shy.

He stopped with a crack,
sore bones.
Nothing but black,
and bird's groans.

I ended with blood,
blue skin.
Buried in deep mud,
dead birds of his sin.