TORTURED SOUL


Years' later
she still washes her hands
every five minutes
to get rid of the smell,
the foul-smelling stench:
Of him

Light switches
every time she enters a room:
On-off, on-off
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Night sweats
Night terrors
And always the smell:
Foul breath
Old B.O.
Fresh ejaculation


...Meanwhile
years' later
he sleeps a troubled sleep
amidst the pain of liquid dreams,
wet-dreaming of being yet
wrapped in the arms
of the perfumed mother

who left him alone
as a little child
and walked away
without so much as
a backward glance

Promptly forgetting him