The Sound of Stabbing

There is a knife and it's resting.

Cool black ball in a read palm
double blade, "ting ting!"
hesitate and begin

a bit like a suck, a spongy muted squeak
stuttered tap hitting bone
pulls wet from this skin sleeve

Oh it weeps!
My darling red pearl babies,
from my heaving plank!
I'll press you to paper
seep to sleep and to stuck.

It is all pocked away
in the in and the out.
In the slick lisp of letting,
I can hear what was said.