The Poor-mans Diamond.

The Poor-mans Diamond.

No sorrow do I feel
as I take a shining knife
into my trembling hands,
and slowly undoing your
robe of crisp dried petals,
I plunge an ancient blade
deep into your hearts essence,
cutting away at your acid flesh.

No sorrow soaks these tears,
as I hold you down and violently
slice your moonlight skin,
I cry of my love for your earthly
beauty, my poor-mans diamond
and tossing your wondrous body
parts about, I lay you down gently
beside my seasonal green salad.

                                                            spb.