Passionless Cut
The bitterest things are clear. I can see right
Through you. The empty bed is just as clear
As you are. Cyanide is pure and white,
More pure than bed sheets, even empty sheer
Ones, those unstained by absence. Stains are what
You have not left in them. You never left
Such gifts. If you had left a little smut,
At least I could have cherished it. The heft
Of that virginity between us cleans
Away all hope. The bride’s dress with no blood
Is banishment. Crystal-like figurines
With pearls are worse than raping’s pounding thud.
..A blot of passion uncontrolled could see
….Me through. You left just diamond debris.