That Apartment
An argument,
a brief struggle,
torn leather, torn lace,
wounds to the face,
tempers brew, emotions grew,
black and blue,
the muffled cries,
leaning forward
until their eyes
were less then an inch apart,
then over again,
they’ll start,
each with a short fuse,
afraid to refuse,
the noise loud,
and in that apartment
two was a crowd.
© 2015 Frank Atanacio