Sitting with you at the sushi bar
Where the chef reels out rows of carcasses
And knifes them to shape,
I'm reminded of that scene
When a character eyes his assassin
And has to wipe that knowledge off his face.
You're feeding my soul to its heart's content.
Perhaps you're the rare connoisseur
Of the misplaced heart.
Perhaps you will teach me the meaning of regret
For there is something in the glint of your eye,
The almost-smirk in your easy charm
As you deliver your lines
Like a magician with his slew of card tricks,
That makes my heart recoil
Like a captive animal
At the sharpening of knives.
By Betsy Esther TanQLRS Vol. 11 No. 1 Jan 2012