With poisonous smoke, <br />She exhales, fire from a mouth – <br />That kissed, has been <br />Kissed, and through madness <br />Solitude, acted as magic <br />A placebo for the new love <br />And violence, violence of <br />The new days – the ones <br />That follow, ride along <br />Holding hands and fingers <br />Entwined, hope, for <br />It is as it should be, <br />Should it not, my careful <br />Mistress, with the poison <br />On lips, and lies in the still heat <br />And heart, mirrors and shadows. <br />Wholly me, evil yourself, for <br />If my lips are poison <br />Your words are opium.<br /><br />A.R. Brixton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/508/
