Non-Erotic PoetryDaishoa splayed neon moon,
a pitiful match burning
against the screaming darkness.
Toshiko knelt,
naked before the window,
watching the rain
and looking into the gentle eyes
of the one who would free her
from this Emptiness,
the one she had pursued
from life to life.
He raised the katana
and passed it through her neck
like butter,
her rolling head watching as
the wakizashi bit into his belly,
and they both listened to
the whispering ghosts
hungering for rebirth.
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