There's a snake I carved into your skin
and it scabbed. No scourer will scrub
it clean now, no fishing hook
except to carve a river for the sea of rage
I'll feed -
I was a fool, you know, to take
that tender smile and pin it
twisted on my foot stool.
I'll tuck all my hammers and nails away.
The fangs I've equipped to you are arrows
aimed for my heart at another
careless swing, and I should've already known.
Cats get claws. You're no cat, but sheep
and every sheep has a wolf tucked within:
sharp fangs - and I've given you poison too.
The little worm turned into a hissing snake
and I gave you the food.
Writing Challenge Contest ( The Review Game), March 2016 prompt: "Don't tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass." - Anton Chekhov.