Our Cartesian push, an elk is seduced by the killer, an elk is the killer; these rites of blood are the only passage. persimmon leaves fall, the tea cup shatters only once you’re there when the tea cup cannot come together as it was; THE PHONOI would be proud in our mirrors it grows, the first furrow in the skin of the red dragon anathema to god, it doesn’t matter. Blood-fest, an art, the harvesting upon the woman’s hair, you forgive me and we tench to the water we fall. Our mind-palace, THE PHONOI would be proud of our mirrors. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt 5/4/21: The challenge is to write a poem in the voice of a fictional character.
I chose to write about my favorite cannibal, Hannibal. At least the NBC version.