Nightmares About Blades

She shivers too easily in mid-May.

This is when he took her head off.

She looks over her shoulder too often

and feels something rise in her slender

doomed throat

though whether bile

tears or laughter

she can never be sure.

Centuries parade past in all

their would-be finery:

dozens of Golden Princes begat

of the sun itself

ocean-eyed and smiling

only for her

the promises of a love forsaking all others

the promises from pages of hard-won words–

the years curl them all at their edges until

they look like the threats she has come

to know them as.

She distrusts even the place

she lays her head at night

for it has been allowed her and can

disappear on the wings of the same

fickle whim that once delivered it.

An apocalypse heralded

a country rent asunder

to the tune of her heartbeat–

she was ever too small and brittle-boned

to make it alive out of such chaos.

Even now she steals glances over

her shoulder

waiting for the strike

waiting for her words of love to turn

to blood on her tongue

and wishing she was able to forget the taste.

–k.b. 05182017

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