When the chair isn’t soft
she leans against me.
I hear the confessions never shared with a priest
but I can offer no absolution
and my benedictions are angry shouts.
She wears me smooth, like rushing water over stones.
She pulls me apart
a violent wind through the trees.
Her hand may not push me down
but it never lifts me up.
When I shiver
I can only find comfort in blankets.