Murderous Fool
it was perfect
beautiful anyway
the ripe fruit
of love and labor
satisfied I let it rest overnight
before saying good bye
and then it happened
in the morning
I touched it one last time
but couldn’t let go
I fondled and fondled
here there everywhere
I couldn’t stop myself
until I felt it stop breathing
then held the lifeless body to the light of day
that which I once adored was dead
I killed it
with my own hands
I killed my perfect beautiful poem
fool
—C Driver
