You choose that dress

Without any care for consequence.

You wear that scent

Unarmoured, so complacent.

You’ve perfected that smile

So consciously self-beguiled.

And strike your pose,

As if you know how this goes.


I wear this skin,

Ill-fitted and shapeshifting,

Draw you near

Pour my poison in your ear.

My hands, so crooked in these gloves,

Warmer than a heart dead to love.

Make no mistake:

Everything you have shall I take.




Erik Kaisson, 2017






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