‘The Severed Head’ by Andrew Bradford

My darling, how long it has been since I last wrote you

He smiled his triumphant grin and held his head aloft, as if a king entering a parade

Having seen it completed, it filled her with such glee

A long golden streak had formed along the last edge of early evening sky

Suddenly the notion struck him that he might end the whole affair here and now with one long

Exclamation that would sever her to the core

Strange how so little passion can be drained from our inner beings

When all that remains is the memory of what was once so much

His voice was deep and earnest, yet painful to the touch

Suppose I should recover the past and try to bring it forward

Awaiting another prompting, I felt around and took a long swig of my drink

If it could all be so clear, so perfect, so crystalline fine and serene

Instead of stilted, suffering, sorrowful, superfluous, sickened

Shall we hold the knife here and dissect the deepest pains of our love?

Or merely use that same blade to sever the heads of our spirit bodies and

Cast them aside into

the dark abyss?

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

 

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