Sincerely, Jennifer x

I am a killer.
The blood is basted on your hands rather than mine, but it still belongs to me.
I put it there,
sensual and sentimental,
holding each fingertip with my gaze,
a gay song in my heart that soon became a war cry.

I wait for the whispers to wane but they never do.
We are front page news to the bored and unfortunate,
and I can’t quite resist ruffling feathers and giving birth to rumours.
I want you. I need you. I love you. I consume you.
You were once a field of white roses,
and now, like everything I touch,
you are drenched in damask.