Domestic violence

I treat my body
like a tempest
seeking resolve. 

I waver
between angst
and ecstasy
waiting for waterworks
that arrive 

in a squall, 
thickening the stormclouds
that pattern
my pale skin. 

It's the sin
of loving too hard
a man whose hands
know fists
not caresses. 

I seek shelter 
from shame
but the sky above
leaks tears

that puddle
my sight.

There is never
compromise
in the violence
of love.