I'd joke and call you my octopus because you'd engulf me in a flurry of limbs whenever I came near, pulling me seductively toward your mouth. I was happy to be your prey, to get lost in the tangle of your tentacles - another love blinded fool - I had no idea that you'd feast on my soft innards, then spit out the bones when you were through.
Battles for life happen in the desert; saints, demoniacs, madmen, Jesus. My desert was a shitty community pool, brimming with gallons of toddler piss and ruptured fart bubbles. I'd hopped the fence at 4 a.m. fearful I'd skewer my cunt and be stuck like that under the humid moonless Florida sky. I'd jumped in with my, No. His clothes on, like some pathetic Ophelia. Even my Chuck Taylor's which made me feel so Rock 'n Roll. I could hear my breathing, my heartbeat; In. Thump, thump. Out. Thump, thump. And I sent up a prayer to whatever God was listening. Even if it was nothing at all. Just let me die, in this piss filled pool and in the morning some poor slob can fish me out. Long handled skimmer; and me too dead to care about the burden.