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
- Hymn to Pan poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- Death by Thomas Hood
- Ballade Of Queen Anne poem – Andrew Lang poems
- I think it rains by Wole Soyinka
- Sonnet. Written Before Re-Read King Lear poem – John Keats poems
- Easter Morning poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- Константин Бальмонт – Молитва последняя
- The Seafarer poem – Ezra Pound poems
- On Your Midnight Pallet Lying poem – A. E. Housman
- Robert Burns: It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonie Face:
- Tithonus poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- Ars Poetica
- Lost Delight
- Юлия Друнина – Другу
- Владимир Маяковский – Стабилизация быта
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).
