apologize

at least the man
who tried to kill me
was polite
about it.

his hand
rests gently
on the back of my neck,
nails rough and worn
as he traces his way
down the length of my spine,
turning each knob
with a definite crack
until he reaches the curves
of my hips
and digs in.
sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i'm sorry. 
my name, something other
than a curse, a rope tied tightly
around us both, just hovering
between the space of his lips
as one of us, i'm not sure who,
starts to cry. 
we are left with
his hand on my heart,
knife on my gullet,
lips pressed softly to my cheek
in prayer
as he apologizes once more
and the moment
where everything pauses
and i brace myself
for the impact.