A Girl Made of Knives
by james bezerra
So much fucking
green tornado aggression
housed within those
bone-sharp white slender
shoulder blades
that you can sympathize
my fear
and attraction -
both at once -
to
a girl made of knives
and fingertips made
to smear small blood
across pale flesh
because she just can’t
stop being shark sharp.
All the time
even when I pet her,
coo her;
whispers on this
blue morning lakeshore
soft moon manipulated thrull,
doesn’t even
dull her edges
no matter how much we ask.
Do we ever ask a blade to dull?
Is it even
fair to ask
a girl
made of knives
to hug
our bodies
softer?
We bleed.
She learns to accept our blood
as love.
.
.
.
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