Your hands on my thighs,

gently separating.

Your wanting eyes boring into mine,

are now guilty. They should be full

of tears falling for me. And your hands

should be empty with only the memory

of how they once touched me. 

Know that the only reason for your skin on mine again

will be if by chance I

hit you, punch you, push you

down into the dirt where you belong.

I want to leave you hurting

worse than how you left me.