Does she love him? His words are venom-filled.
His serpentine stare belies his temper;
No reptilian patience coils in his mind.
He insults her in a brutal manner,
Speaking of a night she was assaulted
As if she had played the red-lipped harlot,
Not been fed drinks until memory ceased.
She grabs a book and bashes his temple.
He holds his head, screams that she is a bitch,
And lurches to the kitchen for vodka.
He looks like several demons I know.
She is wearing socks and walks silently
Across hardwood floors and darkened hallways,
Reaches at a string, and climbs the stairwell.
She sits and cries amid dust and cobwebs.
She will leave the attic in a few hours,
When she can be sure that he is sleeping.
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