Crimes of Passion
Razorblade drapes cracked daybreaks’ neck,
Crooked arm beneath her face,
She reclined dove quiet,
Conscience dwelt, guilt-ridden waves
Amidst the silk and lace.
Roared a solemn riot,
A lump caught in my throat, gorging brimstone,
The noose tightened,
Throttled tears of eyelid fashion.
Sneaking on my winter coat, wore Judas fear,
Brooding cold and frightened
Carried home my crimes of passion.
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