I paint my name in broad dark strokes
And sweep the brush across your thighs
A shadow of the moment past
I sign my work with tiny sighs.
The ink I’ve made is black and thin
It dribbles down between your cheeks
The contract quoted whole in sin
The clause you begged me not to seek.
I will not cede my soul to you,
My heart, my cunt, not any part,
But I will write my letters large
Upon the atlas of your heart.
All rights reserved – Alicia Fitton 2018