We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That’s very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Here Dead We Lie poem – A. E. Housman
- Jerusalem Delivered – Book 06 – part 07 by Torquato Tasso
- Stanzas. In A Drear-Nighted December poem – John Keats poems
- Sonet 43 by William Alexander
- Untitled XXII by Yunus Emre
- Traveling
- Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending? poem – A. E. Housman
- Федор Сологуб – Солнце, которому больно
- An Anniversary
- Usurpation
- The Widow at Windsor by Rudyard Kipling
- Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare
- Scoring Highly on the Psychopathy Scale by P.J.Reed
- The Lonely Climber: A Seed Poem by Mike Yuan
- Владимир Британишский – Царство – одно, но России-то – две
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
