The girl leaned against the balustrade.
Her legs dangling in the air and he
Was whispering to someone on the
Phone, later than midnight. His half of
The bed had been empty.
And he took his flesh into his hands, and the
Girl could hear the impatient rubbing of
Wet skin.
He gave the invisible woman on the phone
Orders, what she should say, what he
Wanted to hear, what she should do,
How she made him feel,
How hard he rubbed his cock for her
And that everyone was asleep,
And what was she doing.
His requests and questions didn’t stop.
And the girl who couldn’t sleep thought
About the bed that he had left.
The side that wasn’t empty.
How women are betrayed in their sleep.
And the sounds of his cock and her sleeplessness
Branded themselves into her brain and body.
With every rub he sabotaged the image of men in her head.
And of herself being awake as well whilst infidelities happen.
She didn’t cry. She neither stopped him nor did she move.
She listened and absorbed the way that he spoke to women.
How he would exchange one for the other, arrange gatherings
With many of them, calling them cheap and unworthy, or
Dirty enough to handle quickly, give them what they deserved.
And she heard how abruptly he hung up the phone once
He had cum on his hand
That felt like blood to her
As her mother was sleeping still.
Croque-Melpomene 