Hard Milk

Hard Milk

Hard, almost vitrified
She rarely speaks
It is a look in her eye
Gleaming prohibitive aggression.
Lips parted lips vehemently
Manifest a venomous vocal spray
Spite aspirating an air-born poison,
Each drop of her spittle
Congeals to industrial diamonds
Honed to lacerate.

Hers an astringent femininity
Scrubbed to a sheen,
Nothing flashing keen
As her eyes, as her teeth.
She breathes resentful
Exhaling bitterness
In self-defense,
Pacing a well guarded cage
Grilled mesh gates she locks
Turning the key from the inside.

Her breast harbor’s no sweetness.
God only knows
How the milk she refuses
Her babe
Tastes.
For a certainty
He shall never
Know.