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A Thin Line
December 2, 2014
As my blood boils as I look at your face
The marrow bubbles at the heat of hate
For in this world there is no room or space
For such an ugly being to dictate.
Nevertheless, you press me with your weight
But yet, somehow, you make my feelings rhyme
You make me feel, and love, and think, elate
So at the same moment in space and time
I am in pain, but such that feels divine
I am in love for blood, that red ocher paint
Where wrath and lust follow the same straight line
Forget I cannot, my life you have taint
My body now may never be at rest
Like a butterfly, you are a sweet pest
© Christine S., Arlington, VA
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