three in the morning, the meeting of cross currents
minutes before, his gaze was mine
eyes bleeding as he studied me shiver
my only vice dressed my body black and blue
a fist i once adored, now the last claw
that scraped my body sweet
like that of saccharine, intoxicating
cloyingly sweet, in spirit and manner
he held me close, in his arms
tight, rivers cannot pass through...
i silently battled for the dagger
beside the open fire, behind his chest...
i no longer see my lover
but horns, black as silhouette
he must be ready to die and
i was ready to kill...
the dagger flew right next to my core
my hands were the pilot...
i knew he loved me
with this, i knew, he would die...
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