Wisdom

I in my shirt, my skirt, my tie. And you,
Your v-neck, duck egg blue, Marks And Spencer’s cashmere jumper
That seems to say:
`Girl. This is your lucky number. `
Then the humble, face first tumble...
Ice cold against my head.
Your hand, offered just a moment too soon...

"Hey I'm sorry. Here,
Let me buy you a drink. Call it an
Apology."

Calculating fingers that twist, entwine, wrap, divide, conquer, assert, beg, ask, demand...
Every subtlety plotted: planned.

Heat.

That rush of humidity to my face. The crash of colour,
The hitch of breath.
Release breaking like a wave over the crack sound stone that split the skin,
Dug channels in my palm, wherein blood flowed
Fresh and new, such weeping wounds.

I crucify your confidence.
Splay you open for the cormorants.
Your own fault - you should have seen the danger:

"Sorry Sir, I take not sweets from strangers."