It was I,
splayed out on your altar,
fresh fruit leaves,
sticky with blood,
suctioned to my skin,
with our blood, yours and mine,
my offerings,
my sacrifices,
bleeding out,
all over my spread legs and
pomegranate carcasses,
you arrive with knives,
heartless, mad bastard,
Romeo remembers you,
his antithesis,
man covered in curtains,
false god, false prophet,
and I see her on the other slab,
fertile blossom,
we,
the innocent.
You dig the knives in under our chins,
so we can’t scream.
I think you do sacrifice best.
Set aside.
yep i loved this it paints a vivid picture, wonderful!
savage. love it.
Gruesomely beautiful – the very best kind of poetry 🙂
Very nice!!!
Impressive and vividly a really excellent piece.
Your poems bloom on the shadow side of the moon, Shrinks.
Very very powerful. This is the best I’ve readin a long time. Love your imagery.