Sunday, February 1, 2009


Knife in, knife out,
deftly stab between the ribs;
slide past the muscle
with your jabs.

The sharpness
in the edge
of your voice
bleeds me.

I roll over
unsheath the pink
of my tongue,
licking lips
against the whetstone
of my teeth.

Neither one of us has brought shields.
And there is much damage.

Honey tongue
proves a late surgeon.

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