Tag: anthromorphism

  • Concealed weapons 

    I saw him in a pawn shop on Fifth.    We looked at each other in fascination.    A reflection of each other’s cheap tastes.    I loved the smoothness of his barrel.    He was cold to my eye and warm to the touch.  He belonged to another; a serial number   Told me so.    He wasn’t loaded, empty of all ammunition.     Wanting…