The Rape

When she told me about him,
he could have been my friend,
the man i'd go to war with.

When she told me about him,
he could have been my brother,
the man i'd die for.

When he entered her room,
he could have been a needle,
that initial innoculation,
in the depths of black hearts.

When he entered her room,
he could have been the last sip from the bottle,
that child running into the street,
unimpeded by a flawed crossing guard.

When he touched her,
he could have been the rope,
warm against her neck,
burning the air from her windpipe.

When he touched her,
he could have been the poison,
the drop of cyanide
decrypting the blue prints,
of her deathly architecture.

When he stole her from me,
I could have killed him,
that instantaneous extinction,
of the child protected.

When he stole her from me,
we both died,
and there was nothing I could have done
to save her.