The anger surfaces later.
The right words. Always.
You push me against walls.
Into corners. You never hear the words.
Your body is a drum, it speaks of war.
It takes up the entire room.
My body is immoveable around you.
Your heart is a minefield.
You speak of peace to keep the war going.
You never grow old.
And when I come back I go back to that house.
That house of tar and feathers.
You make me go back.
You take me there.
Your face is so desolate.
Stuck, stagnant, a threat hitting the ceiling.
Until it blasts, all the pieces falling down.
And it’s on her head. Her shoulders.
You keep memories alive.
In all our bodies.
“Perseus and Andromeda” by Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton (1830-1896)