“I love you,” she says
And drives a blade into my chest,
Holding one, two…
Then eases it out like a root.
She fans her hands over my body
And studies the fluid
Pulsing, draining, now pooling
Under my back.
“Okay,” she says, nudging her glasses
With a bloody thumb.
Fingers flutter over steaming vials nearby
And she pulls at one
Marked submission.
She holds it above the wound.
“It would honor me,” she says,
“If you calmed your convulsing.”
She pours a stream into the earth of my body
And I writhe.
“I know it hurts,” she says,
“But it’s God’s design.”
Aspiring author, poet, literary artist
