Her Split Tongue Flickering Like A Flame Against Soft Ideas, poetry by Bogdan Dragos at Spillwords.com
Abby Pena

Her Split Tongue Flickering Like A Flame Against Soft Ideas

Her Split Tongue Flickering Like a Flame Against Soft Ideas

written by: Bogdan Dragos



she would take a
long, long
bath or

and then walk
naked into
the living room

sit on the
wooden chair
and play her
until her skin
and dark, long
hair would

she looked like
a flawless
sculpture photographed
by a black and

It was hard to
call her real

but there she
and the music played

and the dust motes
danced around
and landed like in
a divine game of
musical chairs

they fought for
the privilege to land
in her hair
on her shoulders
her breasts
her feet
and the luckiest of
the lucky
would stick to her
wet eyelashes

but even to die
on the floor
below her was a

She liked death. Loved
it so much that
one day she bit
into the strings
of the violin
and broke them
and tied them
around her slim

The final bath
colored the
black and white
with a world of

and then she never
showed up
again. The dust motes
miss her

I miss

my poems miss
her music

The new one is
less human
and doesn’t bathe

she’s got blood
and semen in her
and her scales
are sweating wine foam

she doesn’t play
the violin
but runs her vile mouth
and touches
herself on the chair,
her split tongue
flickering like a flame
soft ideas

She’s after hardcore concepts
Wants guts and
and murder
and mindless violence
and suffering

I think…

I think
we’ll get along

Bogdan Dragos

Bogdan Dragos

Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour shifts locked in a dark office full of TV monitors. There he mostly daydreams and writes poems and stories. He also manages a poetry blog - Daydreaming as a Profession.
Bogdan Dragos

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