Samuel Minier:

Writing in the Dark

I cannot bear to touch him anymore,

this flaccid thing below me.

I have stroked and licked all night,

and still he lays limp as puddy.

In candlelight he flickers pale,

face drawn down in defeat.

He opens his mouth, probably to

apologize again, and I

thrust

the knife, leaning

hard

until the screaming stops.

The shaft is

long

stiff

potent as I slide in.