“Exquisite Corpse” poem #4

her silence is deafening

no words exchanged, my spirit crushed

my wine glass shattered, my hands scarred

jealous the sweetness of your lips

that I shall never know again

perhaps someday

she will find her way back to him

like the soft stroke of a willing cat’s fur

is the touch of a beautiful woman

yet her words are barbed and sting

like a drop of water on an open wound

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