She sharpened her tounge
with three clicks against
my wit and stabbed haphazardly
at places akin to my heart.
She could always acrobat around
my words to leap into new tightrope
meanings proposed in some ulterior
circus-tent living. The clowns blow
fire at my defences and juggle my
emotions like bowling pins on high.
I whispered my qualms towards the fallen
furniture, eye contact dismissed with
barely a flinch. She's my knife, edged
with underlying love.
A contest entry
- It Begins With... by Dalaney.
825 points, ended July 7, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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