Opening the letter
Was like opening her
Heart; the contents were not

What she had expected, 
Instead of powerful
Declarations of love,

He’d written, thank you for
The delightful sexual
Encounter, it was a

Whirl, but I don’t think we
Have much in common to
Continue this charade,

And signed off with his small
Illegible scrawl at
The end. It had not been

What she had expected
At all. It had been a
Hard blow to her supple

Underbelly, like a
Sharp knife under the ribs,
A thrust of indifference.

She folded the letter
Neatly, pulling the white
Folded paper between

Finger and thumb until
It was exactly square,
Then ripped it into small

Pieces bit by bit, then
Scattered them as he had
Sprinkled the pieces of

Her heart to the harsh winds
Of an indifferent
Flow of words scrawled in ink.