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Guest Poet Syyd Raven


bitter, one kiss,
my lips to your eyes
withered and soft wet cocoons of

away from everything you ever knew
and I loved you in my own way,
I really loved you

dying in my hands
manipulated and drunk
in your enormous shadow
whispering smeared white gifts of love
in the cool black bed of your man

the enormous wax love
hangs limply beneath a dirty
sordid goddess

in the confession
of your deadliest hour

December, 2001

Syyd Raven's questions:

Question 1 Does the reader experience a sense of subterfuge between the title and content?

Question 2 Is it clear there is a feeling of an ending of a relationship by word play?

Question 3 Would the poem have more meaning were it titled "Confessore"?

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