Old Wounds, Old Nightmares Revisited

I cut my hands every time I tried to touch you
On the sharp rusty nail edges of your boy face:
Ear to ear grin of a child or a snake.

Veneer of charm ran like melting wax.
You boiled within. Erupted fire and disengorged a rain of slicing sharpness.

Being large I could not force myself through the tiny doorway.
On my knees, face pressed against its frame, inhaling the sweetness of the world beyond,
I clenched my jaws and braced against the rush of your hot fists.