Apricot Bruises

Apricot-colored powder, choking down the Tylenol
Invisible fingers on a makeup covered throat.
The blades thwack in my ears, drying my hair
His horror-ridden eyes glued to my neck in the mirror.

It doesn't hurt; "I don't understand."

Turtlenecks in summertime, skin tone sepia.
Heavy eyes on heavy bruises as they all wonder
His thumb strokes mine to remind me of him,
Making it that much worse to wear my scratchy noose

He didn't mean it; "I'm sorry."

Slip to our old room silent, telling them not to look
He touches his bruises tenderly, his and his alone.
His clothes on mine in messy piles on the floor,
Lips back and forth on mine like slipping ice

I can handle it; "I love you."

Apricot-colored powder on his gorgeous, crying lips.
The blades thwack in my ears, drying our sweat
Tears round my lip as it quivers on his bare chest,
His fingerprints throb at the veins of my neck.

I can't handle it; "I don‘t understand."

Crying like only a woman should, holding his hands on my hips
Leaving sheets in his cradled arms meant for me to fall back to.
My fingers float to my neck, afraid for him to touch me there
Crying because I lied like a damn rug, flat and meaningless

He didn’t mean it; “I’m sorry.”

To lose my life in those hands could be a frightening heaven.
Hand weighing the doorknob, desperately avoiding those eyes.
Longing to stop the quiver of his lip, losing it’s virility,
The door clicks hard behind me hearing his tears hit hardwood

I can’t handle it; “I love you.”