• I am not incapable of words and phrase;
    of prettily placed syntax and
    lasciviously lingering lines--

    I am no stranger to the warmth of skin;
    the calming carress of fingertips and
    the press of admiring lips--

    I know too well the joys of arms and
    hushed tones, however sweet.
    I was once fond of a fixated gaze
    and airy, soft sighs.

    But, I have cut out my tongue--
    and I am at war with the heart, no longer
    holding it at length to defend it.
    No longer catering
    to its whims.

    You see.. "truth", and
    "beauty" are such wonderful words...
    But shrapnel, is
    shrapnel.

    You see.. days end come?
    I am alone with the things I have done;
    and I am in love with his ghost.