(3-30-03)
The delicate
Knife of love
You wield with a
Surgeons precision.
Subconsciously,
Without even thinking.
Every slice
Committed to memory.
Each layer peeled
Uninteresting and
Common to you.
Your anesthesiologist
Is falling down on the job.
Mixing gasoline and fire
Instead of soothing
Morphine.
Each planned and random cut
Makes me scream.
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