Hmmmm, a knife.
Staring at me from across the counter;
Begging me to gaze into its slick face'
I hesitantly lift the metal utensil in my right palm.

I glance into the eyes of the metal.
The knife mischievously smirks back at me,
Or is it merely my reflection in disguise?

I gently glide my finger along the perfectly straight edge.
Ouch! The blade pricks my finger;
assuring me that it was sharpened recently.
The tip is as sharp and fine as the point of a sewing needle.
Why does a utensil require such a sharp surface?

What could this knife's true purpose be?
Is it intended for harm of any sort?
Is its purpose to sever a thick, meaty steak?
Is it to slice a cake that is as thick as drywall?
Or to portray itself as a lever to prop open an uncooperative jar?

Doubtful.
The knife was sharp for a specific occasion.
The smooth,sharp, and shiny metallic coated blade was purposefully prepared.
The knife is razor-sharp like scissors seeking sheets of paper to slash.

The knife's use is an alternate to anything that would be imagined.
The knife, in fact, is intended for carving;
For the permanent engraving of love into a tree.

The knife is for an everlasting memory;
A memento of young love.
A permanent wound to the tree's rough bark to outline love shared between two teens.