When she said to take her hand
I never dreamt it was to guide the knife.
“Let me touch your heart,” she said,
“My fingers long to feel the beat.”
So I took her hand and helped her to her feet
And placed it where she’d feel my life’s tattoo,
She’d feel the drum that marched the wine of life
Through arid sand, that made the dunes a place
Where, although parched, could make life spring anew.
Perhaps it’s best I never saw the smile
That, when she cut away my tenuous life,
Split her face forever into two.