Soneto

I love you in a way that isn’t love,

A scientist gazing at butterflies

And imagining the most beautiful

Impaled, penetrated, stuck on a pin.

 

I want you like a butcher wants meat: fresh,

Red, pink, wet, the choicest cuts spread out and

Awaiting the cleaver, waiting to be

Transformed into art by his bloody hand.

 

I see you like a conquistador sees

Virgin land: there for the taking, green fields,

blue waters, shining riches beneath a

Thin veneer begging to be torn away.

 

I love you like a writer: empty words

And idle ugly thoughts and nothing more.

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5 responses to “Soneto

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