Lo hecho está hecho: What's done is Done
"It was that taste of your skin,"
Who, in their right mind, would say that out loud?
But her mind does, simmering, baking
and yet swimming in the contradictory natural disaster that is
her hand holding glass, tight and sweating, rigid
over a bunsen burner.
The gas smells already slightly burnt.
It's that carbon-laden quality that allows it to sink
and scritch-scratch
at her resolve, and her nose twitches in response
"...Like sulphur mixed with honey."
Both substances beautiful, perhaps, to different people
and at first glance, resembling the sun
yet, it's a polarising sort-of sameness -
one, bright.
perhaps garish, in how its smell almost aims to assault
the other... shyer. ...cloying
sticking
slowly,
golden. and sweet in how its ends always seem to want to stay together, a mix of love and jealousy
together, they streak through her hair, from root to tip
tied up tight, in a severity that speaks little of her growing pains
"It enraged me - made me wild."
a bright bulb of heat forms in the curve of glass,
and soon, her experiment begins to sputter and scurry ahead
into a chain reaction fasterthanherown--
from here on, it's all sharp intakes of breath and a palpable trepidation
when those around her witness her right wrist buckle
as her creation stumbles; practically stammering and ending with a fierce
"Stop, back away from there!"
What has She done?
her sleeve is stained with the yellow of an embarrassing end
and yet, new beginnings
because from across the room, she sees his stifled smile.
--
this is what happens when I listen to shakira songs all the time.