bloodmatch
Each time I fuck her
a little bit deep
she bleeds,
tears open
on the inside
where she can't see
and barely remembers.
Not menstrual blood,
the tender fabric
sponge red flesh
delicate, expansive, tough
rips where it has sewn together in scars.
It's not fair not to fuck her where she loves it
just cause daddy got there first
30 years ago
and 29
and 28
and 27
and 26
and 25
and 24
and 23
and 22
and 21 years ago.
Drunk, of course.
Ignored, of course.
He's sober again, for now.
And Mom, well, regardless of what did she know and when did she know it,
it's all better now,
she's remarried and on meds.
I'll never have to sit with him over turkey dinner,
and he's lucky.
I have no qualms of fucking open his scars
and shoving his face
in the blood match.
Copyright © Samantha Barrow
All rights reserved.
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