who can sing of
love
in the most
contorted fashion
spat out as you
would
if you kept
knives under your tongue
like some
exotic killer, and wounded,
shredded
someone once close to you.
More painful
than any of Cupid's arrows,
(that cute
little darling in the loincloth
shooting at the
unsuspecting,
while claiming
innocence),
the guitarist
shrivels you
with his kind
of love.
©2019
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