Weak as Water Poem by Sibila Petlevski

Lying quite at her feet,
veins cut, in a field of wheat,
he expects her face would relax
in a smile. Teasing flex,

disturbing the peaceful
current of his life, she holds on
a fretted rope, beyond hope.
He hopes her grip would relax

but that frightful virgin sex
does not seem to let him go.
All he seeks is a little bit of peace.

He's meek. Tame as a unicorn
and weak. Weak as water.
Virgin Mary, let him spring a leak.