I trusted you

yet now my sleep

is haunted

by the chemical smells

of the washroom floor, 

the last imprint

of consciousness

on my sleepy mind

Mother always warned

about the kindness of strangers

offering pretty colors

in crystal goblets,

warned to drink

from the tap

and not from lust

My torn underwear

pay homage to her cries,

my innocence shredded

and sore,

your smile and cologne

linger,

to mock me,

My shame a guarantee

of silence 

© Antonio Beardall