Wordle #187 “Crime Scene”

187

Brenda Warren

Your sex yields against my palate,

Soul subtly transposed underneath the skin.

However, carefully we tend our scars

Anguish still mixes in and all that

Was sacred becomes taboo

When voiced by another man.

I scrape a fire from the toasted ashes

The screams within coagulating

At your freshly applied visage

Your eyes are the only hint I need,

Tomorrow will come but not for me.

In each chamber a hole just big enough

For a man’s fingers to slip inside.

A dribble of poison, a white dress

Liaison-red after applications lingers

In the nuances of my ruined flesh.

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5 responses to “Wordle #187 “Crime Scene”

  1. THE DETECTIVE

    the
    palate
    was
    blood
    red
    with
    a
    subtle
    mix
    of
    fresh
    sex
    and
    hints
    of
    toasty
    potatoes
    au gratin
    left
    over
    on
    dinner
    plates
    that
    yield
    cold
    scraps
    and
    nothing
    more

    clues
    tend
    to
    appear
    when
    you
    least
    expect
    them

    a
    missing
    heart
    tends
    to
    imply
    a
    lost
    soul

    she
    didn’t
    know
    who
    did
    it

    but
    she
    would
    find
    out

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