The drip drop drapt of blood in a cold stone floor on a soft dry carpet of leaves.
Tell me if it's deep.
When the slick silver dart between your gristle-wrapped ribs.
Tell me if it's deep.
The scent of animal warmth, biological decay running over my hand like your blood.
Tell me when it's deep.
Your lips on mine.
When it hurts.
My hand around your neck.
When it's done.
His knife through my spine.
Tell me is it deep?
Your eyes meet mine… so bright I'm blind.