Non-Erotic PoetrySharp!Sunset bleeds down the neck of the knife.
Its sharp ridge calls us forth like a siren
to mount the highway north and speed
up the side. We divide our speed
by angle, by economy, by wit or knife.
Sharp! The glass vibrates with siren.
Roll down the window, mute the siren--
the first dance of authority is one-speed.
We wonder if he's seen the knife.
Knife booted, siren speeds away.
(Q. Tritina + 16. Keywords #4 for Poetry Survivor)
Share the love
Similar stories
Report a Bug
1 Pages:1
Please Rate This Submission:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
SkinandSin, DrewberryLess favorited this poem!
- Recent
Comments - Add a
Comment - Send
Feedback Send private anonymous feedback to the author (click here to post a public comment instead).
English
There are no recent comments (2 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (2)