Thursday, 21 December 2017

The air crumbles

as he closes the office door.

Turning, he pins you
like a butterfly to velvet.

His voice the only soft thing about him;
his cologne a sharp sting of spice.

If he were your husband, it would be no worse;
you are the target, the trophy, a conquest too easy.

Helpless, your voice to protest lost
in his power, his very destruction of the air.

Slow spider approach; he draws near.
Strokes, strokes your hair, then holds you there.

The kiss, lingering as chilled honey, just as thick.
A whisper, then a murmur; a promise, then the thrust.

You are his today, and you will be again, again,
until you become

                                                                                     unpinned.

© Michael Griffith

Creative Coalition urges victims of sexual assault and harassment to #KeepTellingPeople

Michael Griffith teaches and resides near Princeton, NJ. He writes poetry, non-fiction, and the occasional shopping list.

3 comments:

  1. A remarkable write Michael, efficient and chilling in its telling.
    As an ancient thing I can recall similar experiences - but I think way back then, we were somehow programmed to expect it, accept it.
    We women knew our place then...
    Anna :o]

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Anna.

      Frankly I am sick of this type of degradation to women.

      Delete
  2. This is rich with repellent detail - rightly disturbing. Going to have to have a wash after reading it!

    ReplyDelete