Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The brink

Once the wrong word said, I’m gone crazy ─
my smile snapped;
her ribbons & wheel & steel in my head whirring,
a sick spinning,
nauseous flight. 

She sets off explosions; no punches spared,
nor tanks nor guns; pulls no punches.
Nor when I stop
is she stopped,
but pistons and steam chunnelling
to distraction.

 If peace is an option, I don’t think she’ll
take it,
but lobbing spanners in,
ignition flaming,
she likes to go to the brink;
like brinking is sex.

No comments: