More of the same, really.
Just a quickly hashed together response to Nortina who provided the idea of a bloody angel of vengeance conjured up by a spurned lover in the night.
**
The guilt of lust drifts through my head
A spectre floats above our bed
In bloody hands a shining blade
No care for explanations made
No words that drool from bloody lips
As through my tender skin she rips
And tears this heart from where it beats
To leave me bleeding ‘tween the sheets
And all the while my lover dreams
Hears nothing of my final screams
Cares nothing more of my mistakes
She sleeps in peace, in peace awakes.
**
Richmond Road 
You continue to amaze …
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one thing about poetry, when we write from instinct, we write damn good stuff. And this is damn good. If it’s possible to wince and smile at the same time at the images, I just pulled that one off, too.
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geeze, you’ve got to get Mrs R to calm down … imagine trying to wash all that blood out of the sheets! Good one pops, your poetry sure sings 🙂
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Hi came for a visit. Thanks for the conversation. I’m on a search for understanding thoughts. If I like your comment it only means I have read it not necessarily in agreement. 😊
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Ha ha! I’m not always in agreement with my own comments either. Drop by anytime!
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👌
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