From the Bunk bed you promised me I would be something beautiful when I grew up. I haven’t forgotten your sighs; my body shook with sliced skin you rubbed on my bloodless skeleton. from the bunk, you said you loved little girls you loved me, your clammy tissue bouquet. from the bunk, I spied your yellow and green scars arresting your flaccid groin, women despised and I prayed for each night as you took my body from the pitch pink bedroom, nibbling on my ear as you carried me, kissing my flat chest, my smooth delicate legs. from the bunk, you took my refrigerated soul. and you from behind, as I ate blanket lint. and, you from behind as I ate blanket lint. © Lisa LoBasso