SWEETHEART
- Jun 21
- 1 min read
By Lynsey Balloch
I was playing in the dirt when he found me –
With my thighs clamped shut.
Taking pause –
I slid into his arms.
Wandering from foreign parts,
Stumbling across my village by chance,
He chose to ruffle his ironed shirt –
And stop me in the street.
What an upstanding young gentleman!
My body trembled eagerly,
Weighed down and squirming –
With feelings that were not mine.
“You are starving. Let me feed you.”
He said – grave mouth closed.
I was.
Having not been sustained for years – a lifetime.
My exhausted companions stared –
Eyes bulging hungrily.
He gathered me up,
And brought me home.
First morning in my new bed, my chest hurt.
It was open, I spat blood, so I crawled to him,
He sat at the kitchen table,
My heart in his deft hands.
He nonchalantly munched –
Red dribbling sideways from his mouth.
“I was hungry.”
He ate. I collapsed.