“Do you like me?’
No answer.
Silence bounced, fell off his tongue
and sat between us
and clogged my throat.
It slaughtered my trust.
It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.
We exchanged blind words,
and I did not cry,
I did not beg,
but blackness filled my ears,
blackness lunged in my heart,
and something that had been good,
a sort of kindly oxygen,
turned into a gas oven.”
More from Anne Sexton
“Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.”
“I think of you in bed, your tongue half chocolate, half ocean…”
“There are a few great souls in my life. They are not many. They are few. You are one.”
“I like you; your eyes are full of language.”