Handprints
I stand in front of the oval mirrornaked
analyzing every inch
of this body he wanted
of this body I would have given him.
Oh god, would have, would have.
Tracing paths that he'll never trace now,
looking deeply into only
my own moist eyes.
How could he do this to me?
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.