My Soul Belongs To Some Demon

I watched her holding a drink
and an unlit cigarette
when she reached into a man's pocket
and withdrew a match
to strike it off the rough bark
of some unnameable house plant,
lifting the fire to her eyes
it took me two steps, maybe three,
to clutch her with a sensational violence, twisting
her arm behind her back as the still burning match
flicked across the room, landing on the host's persian rug.

I dragged her out through the kitchen
and into the yard, no one moved from their positions,
Francis Lai's Concerto for a Love's Ending
didn't skip a beat, it slowed everything down
except for the heat
and with a blow of passion
I pressed four knuckles
into her belly, and
dragged her into the Buick
leaving behind a black shoe
to be found the next morning
stuck by its heel in the snow.