Page 41 - Contrast1990

Cindy
by Wendy Ruderman

I knew I never
really loved you
the day your room stenched

thick,
with the smell of dank decaying leaves,

suffocating.

As I sat in your window-seat,
with my feet propped up against the wall

in fetal position,
my thin frame felt so

alive,
while I watched your sluggish carcass

mill around on the bed
among the dingy white sheets
that reeked of your fleshy rotting scent.

I remembered the days of
Spring,

when we would talk for hours,
your soft voice layering my ears,

comfortably,
like mushy wax.
Your screen sectioned my forehead
into a pattern,
when I pressed my face closer
to the sweet, fruity wind
flowing through the room.

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