- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Last Kiss
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Your crosshairs
tickle my neck,
as I prepare
for the impact.
My ears scream
for a clue,
but I will be dead
before I hear you.
I feel the heat
from your muzzle,
smell the acrid smoke
of your fragrance.
And I wonder which
thought will be my last
as the bullet explodes
into my brain.
The screaming sound:
liquid consciousness
splatters the wall
as your lips leave mine.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousalmost 18 years agoExcellent use of the senses here, I loved the stanza:
'I feel the heat
from your muzzle,
smell the acrid smoke
of your fragrance.'
This is an imaginative write, brilliantly conceived. Your imagery here is testament to your outstanding skills as a poet. Keep up the good work!
