by J S Khan
So I've been told that I kiss
like a silver-tongued lesbian,
but of course I would never say this.
Peaches don't frown, but when
they do, it should be for maximum effect.
Tears should be shed only sparingly,
because pheromones are weapons
that often explode back into the faces
of those who've fired them. Best to remain
the Beloved, safely ensconced
in all your finery and jewels—not the Lover
cursed to haul some useless rock,
the pursuit of passion, all misbegotten reaction—
that's what we call suffering, dear.
But that doesn't mean we don't
want traction, a line leading somewhere—
anywhere really!—or that we fear hell.
So if it's war, well—better scatter
your compasses, sweethearts.
What's the point in drawing a perfect circle anyway?
______
J S Khan's fiction has appeared in MQR, Post Road Magazine, Fourteen Hills, Yalobusha Review, and several other fine literary journals. Khan has also published a novel, entitled We Three Thieves, and his tweets can be found under the handle @jigsaw_songbird.
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