A man and her hour by Terry Cummings

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The door had to be open
Had to have been once
He called her his peace
And held her ripe face in his hands

And then he was on her
Then she was his

The darkness made her mad
She would never be a girl asleep again
She would never again know
That innocent rest

It was her duty to be here
In bitten lip and scrunched up eyes
She trembled

Muscle and bone across every pore
Weight from every breath
Motion and fluid, portent and hope
Until portent ate hope and then

Orange tides of razor sharp agony
Spat at her
And made her bleed her last
Those precious drops that she would
Always be without for ever more

She would wait an hour before
she next opened her eyes