almost kerbcrawled
side stares from a car window, that two bitch look of a man who wants to own you, call you his, stretch you out on the tarmac and run you down
with his two-tone tyres, his make it smile, his computer eyes
lipstick him to the hilt, call him daddy, make him beg
strap him to the back seat and make him want the day you were first split
the see-saw wanting of your hair across his face
the humiliation of his face when you
break him
whisper that you love him
tell him the darkest secret you own
convince him he is the cause
the eyes he closes, the mouth he covers, the skin he rips
with his sidelong stare