seduction's snakes
entwine
themselves ever tighter
around my soul,
biting deeply
into my heart, venom
deadening my hopes
of remaining faithful
to you,
then
you rush up, and with
the sharp edge of your
love,
make the sign of the
cross,
and slowly suck the poison
out
thinking i was
(finally)
weaned from you,
i find myself
confundussed
by the music of the
Snake Charmer,
when,
hearing me mew like a lost
kitten,
your Word comes
running up to me,
breast bared so
i might taste
hope;
leaning on my
shovel,
having filled the pockets
of all i deem
unworthy
with judgment's
gritty gravel,
i do not see
you
take those scissors
formed from the
cross's beams,
cutting holes in everyone's
pockets, giggling as they
join hands and begin
to dance to the tune
grace plays on the
harmonica.
(c) 2012 Thom M. Shuman
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