The steak is a mass of red unraveling; but who needs knives
when your words are sharper than diamonds? Who needs knives
when the fig-peels shred beneath my fingers, when my auburn hair
wraps around you like twine, why use knives
to cut through the silence between us like the chocolate cake
you gave me for my birthday? Knives
can not fold back this moment like a laundered sheet,
to when your kisses traced the contours of my spine. Knives
can not bejewel our silence like diamonds that slip from my fingers,
spurred on by your words, that make me ask: Why use knives?
when your words are sharper than diamonds? Who needs knives
when the fig-peels shred beneath my fingers, when my auburn hair
wraps around you like twine, why use knives
to cut through the silence between us like the chocolate cake
you gave me for my birthday? Knives
can not fold back this moment like a laundered sheet,
to when your kisses traced the contours of my spine. Knives
can not bejewel our silence like diamonds that slip from my fingers,
spurred on by your words, that make me ask: Why use knives?
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