Before it had Begun

by Natascha Scrivener

He struck me.
His voice bruised from his song. A slither, a bead of sweat, and more
Pushed through his hair, a glittering scalp caught in the glimpse of light.

He exhaled briefly. An apologetic smile.
No words, but he could see me, stripped of clothes,
Of make up,
Of any one of my-selves.

I was for him. And he took me.
With salted lips, breath still heavy,
He tempted me with nothing,
He too was bare,
breathing,
Breathless before it had begun.