The crooks and crannies of my soul
stung at the sharp moon crescent
carving me.
And I lay cradling my soul
Our eyes merely lingered,
shot through the hourglass of time.
Your transparent whiteness should not
Afford such string in my spine.
My conscience lies in debt
With understanding of
You.
Yet my soul lives in enriched by
Your ivory skull
I know that my presence
is merely a glance that doesn't hold a shadow,
but you grasp my thoughts and strangle them
Until there’s no space left
My mind is convicted of your fever,
a disease that lingers in my arteries.
You did not merely skirt my periphery,
you dragged a blade, cursing me,
eruptions of tantalizingly immoral pain,
a pendulum of knives
left to hang in silence,
swinging from one end to the other,
Then your emptiness shadows me.
Close to the edge.
You left me.
I should never have met you.
The skirting of the periphery is a hint to a quote of soren kierkegaard, when one of his characters is talking about seduction. The scarring of the periphery suggests that this person did so much damage, despite their small, fleeting prescence.