The wind is his fingers
When they run through my hair
massaging my scalp
taking the scrap of sanity
I have left

The absence of my pride
Feels like a dancer without rhythm
Even with the passion
it’s not enough

They say I’m isolated
From his world
That he’ll never take me

But I’ll say it—
time and again
He’s taken what is not his

He whispers in the rain
He warps my mind when I have doubts
He blinds me in the darkness
He seduces me in my moments of weakness

Once again—

My decorum is made a mockery of
As he walks off with it
In his back pocket