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My Execution
January 2, 2012
There is something beautiful
about the way your hands
are curled so tightly.
It’s like the wood moulds itself
to your calluses -
groove for groove.
You have done this before
I see,
for when I lie my head down
it is caressed by fresh blood
that glints off your blade.
I had thought
perhaps you would be hooded -
hawk-like -
that a shadow
crossing your eyes
would be my barrier,
but no such luck:
better luck next time
(this is my last time).
© Anonymous
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