I was going to write a love poem, but sometimes you have to take whatever rolls off your pen…
Now without further ado, my NaPoWriMo poem-of-the-day:
I handed you the saw,
climbed into the box.
The only sound the ticking of the clocks.
There was a mirror. Smoke.
A rabbit trembled in the folds of your cloak, and
after the flourish, your top hat was askew,
cards fell from your sleeve.
Who are they clapping for? Who?