Razor
Two of the lyrics I remember most often
Involve razor blades
“I’m cold as a new razor blade”
Mourns Cohen to Marianne
While Anna Tivel conjures
“A razor on a rough cheek”
Razors are precision engineered in German factories
To become metaphors
Cold steel meets warm flesh in
A daily dance of enemies
Five little knives drawn across
Your most intimate terrain
Careful now – so quiet you can hear the scrape
Over your escalating heartbeat
Ski the slope of your upper lip
Or – inverted – up your bristling neck
Even with decades of training
One slip leaves you bleeding from a stinging slit
This fierce vinegar pain
Is worse than a punch to the gut
Still somehow – maybe a week – maybe a month
The flesh always wins
Fine slicing steel is worn
To a dull nub by your naked skin
Disposable blades die in the dump but
Your body will be honoured
Your holy living armour
The skin you slaved to perfect
Will be transformed
Against the final blade