in Poetic Prose


Her body’s like a prison
that’s locked-up from the inside,
but always open to those
They choose to come, and then go –
but she still has no way out.
It’s a partner that she can
hardly recognize. Although
strangers never cease to look
at her,
as if they somehow know her –
like it`s inevitable.
Like they see the things she hides
from the image she reflects.
Like hot water over glass,
Or wind
that moves over still water –
Only the heat is stifling.
And the wind is biting.

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