Gael Bage

Slow Burn

Contained in such a handsome vessel
I was unaware of its caustic nature,
the lid remained secure.  When the seal
broke, suddenly I couldn't breathe.

I could smell it in the air before
he opened his mouth. When he spoke
his tone reeked of acid, designed
to dissolve any resolve I might

harbour.  His tirades devoured the flesh
of my ambition and ate into my confidence.
Flame stifled, the vitriol slowly burned
until it had consumed the fine fabric

of our passion.  I recoiled from
this invasive smell, it hung around
in my hair.  Tear-drenched, I pummeled
my pillow, aware I couldn't live

with the stench, it was my cue to exit.
Later I learned acid can do more harm
to the vessel in which it is stored,
than anything on which it's poured.

© Gael Bage