To lay in a stranger’s bed

In the earliest hours of the morning
when darkness paints the city
and all you can hear are the sounds of slumber
Jade lays in a stranger’s bed.

Awake and calculating a silent escape. Swift
like a black panther through the jungle.
She leaves the nameless man behind and
a little bit of herself too.

Slapped. By the crisp, raw air of an unfamiliar street
she makes her way out the same way she came
navigating home was a skill learned many nights ago.
Master of the concrete jungle until

Pleasure’s aftertaste:
Of stale cigarettes, cheap wine
and the fading scent of cologne
Of sticky black gunk around the eyes. And a sharp

potent smell. To wash off.
Coloured water dripping into the sink
No matter how hard she scrubbed her dark circles remained
morphed into a permanent fixture on her face

Her body was strong, but it throbbed from the stranger’s touch
Her mind untouchable.
a rose plucked before it’s time
neither a bud nor reached full bloom.

roses don’t belong in the jungle. To numb was the only way
to stop shrivelling away. Quite stoic it seems, to stop
her petals from falling
she let them lay.

When the stranger wakes and the panther rests
her petal is all that’s left
But its scent, beauty and majesty will never fade
for when you’re touched by pure majesty, you’ll never be the same again.

• Noelle Martin

Featured Image: Artwork by Timothy Wynberg