rose, fox, serpent, stars

he waves a slender finger — back and forth, zig and zag, swing and sway — in front of my face, carefully and perilously guileless “think of that moment,” he purrs professionally

no parts of me do, not willingly when the memories come they appear like vomited blood a blister beneath skin so opaque that no veins show his swinging finger turns to a fish-hook and embeds itself into the memories, and I shatter like a fist-kissed mirror—

like a crack on the river-ice frozen too thin— someone else smiles, nods, professes relief someone else walks out of the clinic, head high but someone else yet runs to the public toilets locks herself inside a fetid stall and sobs heedlessly until she throws up.

the incident is not single.