Stella Silvae

I am powerless here,
and so I comply.

And afterwards, you shower praise upon my lips.
Praise upon my tongue.
“They are as a gift from God”, you tell me.

And in your pause, I can see that you believe your next words
to be some sort of kindness,
and yet,
I hold my breath

“But I won’t ask for that again”, you say.

And I am quiet, because
that’s not what asking looks like.
I am quiet, because to speak right now feels
fraught.

And you say, “It was the way you looked at me”.

I blink,
and you continue with six more words.
And with those six words,
we are finally undone.

Because there’d been the look, and then the ‘gift’.
But only after,

afterwards,

had it “made you feel like a rapist”.