Seasoned Impudence By Cat Cattington

Compressed thumbs numb

Tucked between

Chair arms and thighs

Numbed dead like

The amygdala of my brain.

He who pressed his groin

Against my virgin arm

Thumbing my mouth

Tugging my lips

With arrogant splendour.

She would never.

Holding back, tears welled

Splashing my cheeks

For his pleasure,

Wishing for her to come back,

So she could save me from his terror.

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