He Called Me Beautiful

He walks in the fire of his words.
Malicious yet, beautiful in design.
He pulls the dagger from my back,
But, his tongue is honey and his eyes are kind. 

The coals beneath his feet burn,
Tunneling their embers into his wrists.
His words shimmer, and sting,
With poetry's glowing kiss.

He called me beautiful,
With a sword pressed to my heart.
But, what to do with a thing that's beautiful?
Of course, tear it apart.

Reviews

[Takeshi Yamada]

I liked it...a lot. The last stanza is masterfully crafted. I didn't see the last line coming, but it made perfect sense. I expected a rosy poem in the theme of Valentine's Day, but his one pricked me with thorns. I'm still thumbing the wound, feeling it.