24/01/2011

Him

he was broken
his organs shards
his skin punctured
she could tell by his hands
they were scarred and blackened
from trying too hard
from working the wheel,
the wrong way round
sweat and blood
bathing his soul shaped eyes

he needed a saviour
she was not it
she could not stay to hear his thoughts
to hold him up
to watch him undress

she had no wings
no velvet robes
no clear conscience

she could only provide an intoxication
a brief forgetting
a sin for the saint

one she could only give
at her weakness

how could she intend
to apologise
with a sorry
she had borrowed
for convenience?