Can you feel the memory?
Part of you still lives there
In that smell of chalkdust and textbooks
In the feel of name-etched desks and writer's callous'
In the taste of cafeteria hotdogs and pencil erasers
I cannot know
But I can guess
No one was ever as alone as you
When he reached down, down, down to touch you
Rough whiskers on soft tender skin
Fighting against the softest insistence
And the strongest instincts
"Dont cry."
He loved you for your pencil-thin wrists
And your sun-stroked white-gold hair
Did you move towards him or away?
What is the instinct of a child
When quietly and gently attacked by their supposed protector?
"Please, don't cry."
Did you cry?
You still hold scars so visible to me
Shifting uncomfortably when I'm above you
I would never... But you couldn't know that
I touch your skin in winter
But you scald me because it was hot that day
Where you live
Will any touch ever replace his?
Will your eyes continue saying 'no' forever?
It feels like rape to just touch something so porcelian
You love me
But I always feel that you are seeing him
As my hand slids down from your freckle-streaked shoulder
Don't look so scared, its okay to like it
You're supposed to like it
"I'm so sorry"
I'm so sorry
