Cortadora
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With savage care she held the word 'goodbye'
Against his throat, just nigh of drawing blood
And should his tongue attempt to flick a sigh
His coursing and her ire would bring the flood
She held his heart, like many, o'er the flames
Her fleshy pyres so burned for temp'ring souls
And though the fiery embers laid their claims
He would not let his heart be turned to coals
'So do the worst' he said 'your deadly quips'
'But love has two keen blades, like any knife!'
Still, while his own farewell danced on his lips
His tongue would not quite speak it into life
So there he lay, a curse of passion's need
Awaiting one last kiss ... to make him bleed.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Completely New 26, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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