With a full fist, the cleaver,
knotted eyes stare wildly,
he comes down upon his lover,
down upon his lover,
and down upon his lover again.
Would he beat her so passionately
if he did not love her.
Would his body move and tremble,
and fire like an athlete,
if she did not touch his soul with the softest kiss.
Does he feel it so wrong to love her,
so unmanly,
Man he is tortured by his lover's kiss.
Sometimes i envy this.
For my hands are so small
and my pounding rage is so
massive,
bound.
But it is in my nature to be
restrained,
withholding,
As i'm bound by my lover's kiss.
