The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 3 - Page 22



by Robert Beveridge

Lead me to the altar blind-

folded and eager

help me to lie

on the cold stone

I will tie my own hands

Take the cloth from my eyes

so I can see you

one last time

the knife on my flesh

sounds like separation

feels like the sweetest kiss

of two young lovers

on the train platform

surrounded by suitcases