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Vodka

June 25, 2013

eightyone

I told you I loved you.
That tourniquet verse that rolls so sweet off the tongue.
I made you cry and then I made you come.
And you told me you’d never done either with a man.
Though you were hardly a child.
Burnt, already, at the root.
But there was something there of youth.
A thing I would never understand.
So I tasted the air that I might wrap each coil round it.
Throttle the viral seed that so threatened our love.
For I couldn’t let you have something I could not control.
Know and feel and pull from the river.
A naga wrapped round the neck of Lord Shiva.
A speck of light dancing just out of my reach.
But I’d learnt a few tricks from the snake in the sky.
And I rattled the chains that bound you and I.
A spider caught in its own web.
A scorpion stinging itself to death.

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From → Poetry

One Comment
  1. Niobe Vidal permalink

    Brilliant!

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