Tuesday, July 26, 2016


Soft were her lips,
warm her breath.
Her kiss was sweet:
the kiss of death.

With racing heart, and
trembling fingers,
love may call, but
death: it lingers.

About this piece

I published the first verse of this piece on 17 January 1995. It stuck with me years after the rest of the small collection faded from my memory. I was about due to republish it when a second verse started itching, so here's the new extended version.

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