Alone in the silence
Of her mind:
contemplating, considering, listening
for the first, for any explanation.
She listens to the sound of his breathing
and she waits...

A wrought iron gate swings on well oiled
or sometimes
rusty hinges,
but it is still a gate; still swinging,
keeping harm out
keeping safe in
What does he do when the hinges begin to pull, to bend, to rot?
He turns over then
and she waits...

Watching, biding, storing
time...
He whispers her name
it feels like a cold chill across her naked arms
piercing, unwelcome.
She did not want this place
She did not want this life
Yet she is here, every day
each night,
Waiting...

for something to happen.