From the black silence of landscape
it came, leaving a blood-spattered tear,
her face
that of a siren
that of a tigress rolling on the floor
the metallic wails of love
in the shape of a haze at the edge of sight.
Wounded, two mouths kissed
blood-spattered on the kitchen table
where she sits, virtuous and confident,
stirring the soup with her smile.
After having shattered
respectable sets of dishes and shackles,
like nothing had happened at all.
