Attached.

"Lets not get too attached."
He says, pausing, as he tugs off each protective layer of clothes,
Tangling them in a mess on the floor.

You nod sensibly;
"Musn't get too attached."
Every one of your nerves is singing at his touch;
What else can you say?

And yet..
Attachement;
It grows,
Like mould on bread,
Like choking weeds,
It spreads,
Like a stain on white bed sheets,
Like the warmth between two clasped hands..

Then what?
After all the rituals of post coital intimacy have been performed..?

Silence.
Except for your own thoughts clamouring ceaselessly in your head..
Silence.

Not rejection, just..
'indifference'?

You try and play by the rules of the game you've been made to play..
"MUSN'T get too attached!"

Your body aches,
Inside you feel twisted and bloodied.
Outside you feel torn and you wince to touch.

Wrenched from something firm and comforting

Disengaged
Solitary

Not attached. Just sore.