matter of perspective

I’m not that interesting, she says,
wrestling dingo dogs and alligators
at the same time. I’m not that interesting,
she says,
but she says it like a challenge,
and she says it like a taunt.
Not that interesting, she says,
and she says it like a lie. I am not
that interesting, she says, says she knows
that she’s been perjured;
says she’s caught out in a lie,
says it like a game she’s playing–
never winning, always close,
first forgotten in remorse.
Says she’s willing to be limber
but won’t take to sabotage
but she might be
brokered
into
always tying
for the prize.

©HMS G

and she was all sharp edges & glass angles

i am the edge of the knife, oh so sharp,

yearning to plunge to my death in your flesh;

it calls me, so soft and inviting,

blood rushing to meet my caress.

i want to stay in your bosom–(and hide in the folds of your heart) enamored, enveloped, held

whole–but

the deeper i burrow, the faster i cut;

and the quicker i pass and depart

before even the last breath of your quivering heart.