A Metaphor of the Worst Kind

30 Jun

I was asked to write  a poem that extends a metaphor as a conceit throughout the poem…This is what I came up with.

Intimate Strangers

An uninvited guest, I asked him to come in.

Around my neck he slipped his belt, and tightened with a grin.

It was just a game he invented; a rehearsed improvisation.

Over my head, I stared into the eyes of my predator.

It was a domestic cooperation.

I snatched my clothes off the floor, a bruised and self-made whore.

I thanked him for the horror, and walked the bastard to the door.

Maybe I had misled; an unintended contribution.

In the mirror, I stare into the eyes of my predator.

We were intimate strangers.

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