He was peculiar.
His syntax had
Thorns for punctuation,
Spikes for intonations,
His voice
Was full of blades.
And when he loved you,
Needles and pins
Kept you firmly
Fixed to the spot.
His jealousy
The finest razor,
His love -
The burning sword.
He had knives
Hidden safely
In the confines
Of his bedroom.
Scissors in his voice
Cut you up
Whenever he wanted to.
Daggers adorned
His elaborate waistcoats.
He was all about
Edges and points,
Like a three of swords
Projected
On the ten of similar suit:
Love was a mania,
Passion- a trap,
Lust - an intoxication.
When he loved you,
It was torture.
But
When he did not
It was still
Much worse.
