A Cut of the Knife

She had a way,

with knives

“The sharper, the better”

or, so said the tattoo on her left shoulder blade


“Uh.” I said. Not knowing what else

to say.


“Would you like to feel my pain?”

-the pain that my last lover, inflicted on me

-or, the one that left me crying at the altar,


The knife, cut deeper, drawing blood this time,

the pain, remember I would

in case, she held a quiz at the end

at the end,

-and, I had forgotten the answer


She laughed and licked the edge,

Her lips, blood red at the thought

of having to leave her, and what limb

that would cost me?


“How much do you love me?”

she asked herself in the mirror,

while only doubt crept over my anguished face,


“This much?”, thus slamming the knife down,

barely missing a most precious part of me,


“The next time, the knife will be larger, and trust me,

I won’t miss again!”


There was no doubt in my mind, about that.

The only real worry,

I had left,

Was if the Parking Meter ran out of time,

before, I hobbled back onto the street?


I swore, never to date a Meter Reader