Cleave
Sharp splitting sounds fight from the
butcher’s door
as bloody hatchets cleave
through unyielding gore
And I of seven smell the red, thick in the
air
and cleave to you strongly
to spare me there
But I’m naive you say, as you drive a wedge
Cleaving me away
With a honed tongues edge
Now receiving this mortuary I grieve
and cleave for another
Weaving through knees
looking for your sleeve
By
NLMcD
No comments:
Post a Comment