a hand-to-hand fighting

she’s a bayonet of the hole
in the chest

of the last scream of the bones
and the hiss of the punctured lung

a bayonet of the frightened words,
bitten lips

a bayonet of a tongue, buried in the tomb
of the mouth

a bayonet of the gushing words
onto indifferent sand of the time

a finger that numb on the trigger

a bayonet, because it is already
too close to shoot.

a bayonet, because it is too far to fear.

2 thoughts on “a hand-to-hand fighting

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