The shape of her love is gut-wrenching. Unspoken fear that this time will be the last he will go back to his wife leaving her alone in emptiness. She dances on knives abandoning everything for touch of warm hands fevered lips whispered promises. Though she knows better than anyone that he is a liar. Willingly she dances till feet lie torn conscience is screaming and guilt is the shape of her love. ***** M.A. Mohanraj September 4, 1993Click here to read more poems.