On the nights
your breath
would whisper
notes of love
into my ear, all
I would hear is
my mother telling
me; baby girl, do
not let a man get
used to the taste
of your skin, he
will offers you
letters spattered
with gold, just to
lick it dry. and the
day after, I went
and covered my
body in saran wrap,
so your tongue
wouldn't guess the
flavour of my flesh
nor would it get
addicted to it. On
the rare evenings
you would make
me dinner, my taste
buds will go numb,
for I'll be biting
my lip, thinking of
ways to stop you
from peeling my
clothes off to
reveal the bruises
on my back in the
shape of fingertips,
from the days my
father's lies curled
around my mother's
spine and her grip on
me got a little too
tight. On the mornings
you would wake up
to find my side of the
bed empty, I would be
already cracking my
heels on your wooden
staircase, for my
mother said that no
man should wake up
in the safety of my
arms, he would take
it for granted. So dear
stranger in the coffee
shop, do not gaze at
me from under your
eyelashes, I've got my
mother's words
tattooed on my wrist,
and they might burn
you.
YOU ARE READING
Silent whispers
Poetry'It was as if I could see him, touch him, but never quite reach him. He was a dream, a secret, a promise.'_Aya #44 in poetry on 23.8.2018
