No photographs or trinkets
in secret do I keep
to remember her from afar.
Though I escaped
with life and limb intact,
I dare not put the same test to heart.
Her visage, like needle in hand
placed well on fingertip
pricks, shoots great pain,
causes blood to boil
yet draws none.
Her body, the edge
brought slowly across,
cuts cold and runs warm
to heal, impatient and slow.
She overtakes me, her form
well poured into porcelain light.
Her closing gaze,
the sound of every word
or turn of head replayed,
warm sighs laid gently upon my neck,
the sweet pursing of lips,
and her slow departure into the dark,
they are each one
a cut of a thousand yet to come.
Friends foretold her to be the death of me,
and given the slow demise afforded others
that have never known such beauty,
it is one that perhaps I should prefer.
1000 Cuts
No photographs or trinkets
in secret do I keep
to remember her from afar.
Though I escaped
with life and limb intact,
I dare not put the same test to heart.
Her visage, like needle in hand
placed well on fingertip
pricks, shoots great pain,
causes blood to boil
yet draws none.
Her body, the edge
brought slowly across,
cuts cold and runs warm
to heal, impatient and slow.
She overtakes me, her form
well poured into porcelain light.
Her closing gaze,
the sound of every word
or turn of head replayed,
warm sighs laid gently upon my neck,
the sweet pursing of lips,
and her slow departure into the dark,
they are each one
a cut of a thousand yet to come.
Friends foretold her to be the death of me,
and given the slow demise afforded others
that have never known such beauty,
it is one that perhaps I should prefer.