© 2007 Godfrey Logan

Rochelle

Don't look at him that way Rochelle.
You want him gone Rochelle.
Your skin is onyx.
Your umbra.
True to the black.
Your black heart.
Your winter spell.
You covet and he covets.
But you covet his last breath.
In a kiss.
A kiss of death.
Yet mixed with your antipathy is a powerful yen for him.
But you may not have him to covet if you kill him.
Subject him to blizzard condition.
Subject him to lurking in the black.
The shadows Rochelle.
Without saying a damn thing.
Black as the cosmos.
Black as night.
Black as the deed in which you delight.

Don't look at him that way Rochelle.
Put the scissors down.
To drive it into his hand,
his heart where his hand might land.
His heart he cannot defend.
After having made love to him.
His eyes confirm the end.
Your umbra.
True to the black.
Your black heart.
Your winter spell.
Send him on his way with a kiss.


 

All work is property of Godfrey Logan.

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