So I saw this challenge more as a confessional booth rather than dangerous admissions. So, I did just that – a confessional poem. Suitably, the first line is a bit out there:
I wanted to be the knife that cut you.
To feel the warmth of your
vein’s ink pool on the white
canvas of your skin.
I wanted to be set free
when you fell to someone else’ blade;
to think loving could
give one wings enough to fly.
I wanted to be the poison
in your drink – a toxin of lust
to keep you lingering in my bed,
hungry for another fix.
I wanted us to be a storm
of hail, beating furiously at
each other’s chests. Darling, what
a beautiful maelstrom we could make.