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#117

28 Aug

Garotte                     (originally published in Poetpourri–The Comstock Review–Fall, 1991)

Your words strangle me,
Whipped around my throat
To cut off my air.
You grasp the ends of their meanings
And pull tightly
Squeezing
Until, desperate for my breathing,
I admit, “The error is mine.”
You release me
And give me back the freedom of my words.
I can tell the age of our relationship,
Like trees,
By the amount of rings
Around my neck.

 
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Posted by on August 28, 2013 in previously published

 

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