Default Positions

Nothing hurts more than the blunted arrow the grazing punch, the half-slur. Insinuation from a sibilant slander whispered to a sleeping cat haunts many ears. She was a woman dammed to be a love for me. My curse was to desire her. We were a cage-fight for passions yet in the end no one was hailed a winner, we limped away damaged by near misses. Nothing stings as much as a sharp pen made to snap and scratch upon a blank page. People will read, peer between lines that are not there. Swear they knew all a long we were flailing beneath a hurricane that had no eye and a storm that had no teeth.