By Luciel Duran
this is divine retribution for me
i’m not sure who has control of
this knife we thrust
against my throat.
you—breathless, waiting for
me—grasping the blade
steady hands guiding
hesitance beneath
feeble flesh.
i don’t know a
delicate way to
say i want
blood blooming beading
embedded begging please please—
i’m sorry. i fear
i am the serpent
in your story.