a queer smile,
perhaps a smirk,
perhaps a warning,
and with words
he speaks,
daggers,
slashing,
crimson blood from
a fountain spewing,
a river red of hate,
dribbling from the lips,
already sanguine, to
caress the crystalline
eyes that cautiously
watch the chest
and his breath
from a smile
so unusual
and yet all
familiar still
and turned
his silhouette
frozen dark
never to see
the victim.
