There is no heat in her

fear knocking on her sternum

hard knuckles

His hard fingers scratching at her ribs

through the cage of them to

cradle her heart

Her skin is too soft, shaking vulnerability,

blood pulsing too close of the surface

The strands of her nerves scream out

against his touching

So she hardens, turning her veins

reedy, filled with xylem

instead of blood

Fibers toughening, fingers sprouting leaves she

feels her lungs tighten, lets one last scream

leave her throat

(It makes a sound like a pipe)

And then, even after she has become something

that is not herself, still the rape as

he takes her voice upon which to play

his own music