Monday, 2 February 2015

Hand of Knives

Esther’s plump white skin
                       bursts with ice cold hardnesses.

 
Soft laughter in the gleaming sun
is exiled from her thoughts.
New York and opportunity
are nothing but a hand
of knives when she is left
                                              alone.
 
This hand spreads whispers
         through her dark,
strokes solace on her flesh:
sharp, with finger tips
                             smeared red.
 
 

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