This slit between thumb
and forefinger:
You know this is murder,
you know where this ends.
I twist your knife
and my body dies with a sigh.
Oh, the panicky phone calls at
2AM;
Oh, the need to know:
Lodged between hemispheres:
To see is to trust, to trust
that all is as it seems.
Peel skin to bone;
acquiescence is better
than silence,
and nothing is nothing
at all.
Image and Text (c) Rob Goldstein, 2017 all rights reserved.