At Fault

The taste of regret.
Salt and sea.
Hot shame and cold recrimination,
Stinging my cheeks in rivers.
Own voice berating in my head,
To the beating of a wrung heart.
Mistake, mistake, accident!
Stupid nonetheless.
And three spirits wounded because of it.
And as I hide my eyes and loose the wail,
Howling my grief and remorse,
Another voice, softer comes.
The only other one in the house.
My dog licks my face, whining,
To tell me he still loves me.

AKS 8/29/1999

© 1999 kazanthi@geocities.com