Ananda

His smile was deadly,
One look and you were a gonna.
One touch and you were screaming bloody murder.
Not in pain,
But in lust and desire.
The kind of desire that remained fresh
After days out in the sun.

He held me like one would a scythe,
Up high so all could see,
Yet with the knowledge that with one look you would face a harrowing death.

The words he wrote, to me, a discovery.
Soft and dainty, enough to fall in love with every pen stroke.
But sharp and bitter, making is hard. To flinch. ♦