FOR ZARA

Slow love is not

the thing

fast talking is not

being

Short timing makes me

spring

to heel with flourishing

leanings

toward the blessed arc

of

your throat

where

I find

iron

and globin

for

sustenance

and

greed.

Your eye

cannot

cover

the words

of lusting

fury

that pass

my glot

when

I see

your image

on

my wall

sharing you

is like

suicide

in hot

oil

I burn

and flake

cinders

blow

in the

wind

leaving

me

nothing

but

scarred

lungs

There is

no

antidote

to your

poisonous

affections

you kill

me

and steel

my nerves

for battle

Like a

drugged assassin

I am prepared

for death

for you

but on one condition.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020