I can taste it.

I can taste it.


I can taste the blood in your memories.

It’s in the rough lines of your fingers, within the dirt beneath your nails.

Woven to the fabric of your clothes and embedded in your brain.


I can taste it through the quelch in the air of your tongue.

The rhyme of your times, the sound of your song.


Burn me with your lies as the bacon smell wears thin.

I know too much the reason from the darkness on your skin.

Boil up and over,  take with it your sin.


You’ve scorched her very essence, her beauty was divine,

So you can mark forever her the title that “You’re mine”


I can taste your memories.

I know all that you’ve done.

I can cure you for all time.

Just bring to me my gun.


© G.P Williamson 2017


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