The Regret

Before she died, I never knew her skin.

For him, my love thief, my womanliness
wasn’t innocent. His body melted within me
to be reborn through my vagina. My heart,
the black hole,
was quenched by the serenity of his eye.  
I enthralled the whole.

I had not remembered the cadence of her heart
and softness of her womb was his first touch, 
nor had I remembered the sultriness
of her life giving vagina was his second.

My womb shrank and shrank; became nothing.


© Subhadra Jayasundara