Phobia.

Phobia

A button
spinning on the floor
like a coin
that hasnt come to rest
a sun lit circle on the wall
the milk whirls into the tea
as the silver spoon enters
and the light shines
creating beautiful  patterns
a sun lit circle on the wall
your young untouched flesh
the dress rips
and his hand touches
slips down inside
he tastes your white breasts
your lips
a sun lit circle on the wall
there is no reason
other than your beautiful
he chose you
for your curls
your eyes
your world
your dress
your legs
your soul
he wants it all
every sound you make
he captures
puts it in his box of wooden skin
his fingers damp on steam
carve and splinter
until all you can see is moving
like an angry shadow
a sun lit circle on the wall