Woman from Raška

small pink bodies
treading water with toes
under the surface of glass

i can’t breathe in here:
tomato juice and vodka on your breath
speaking blood tongues for what
i won’t give you,
your small bare breasts a sweet reminder
of victories from years ago,
our impasse now large enough
to suggest why
it was never meant to last.

i’ll still brush your hair
when the masses are too star-struck
by the beauty that makes you forget
how to take care of your soul.

but I will always leave
when your sourness makes you forget
how many times I’ve saved you.