Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Shrapnel

You come home with battle-scars
Wearing shrapnel in your skin
And it is only my
humble task
to take it out again.
To scratch my nails across your back
to ooze and fill
each crack in your heart and soul.

I am the one who moulds
against you
Guards the lonely voice of night,
Sinks my teeth into your flesh and
Bites
down hard in healing waves,
that crash across your steel-eyed gaze
and turn it bluer than a summer day
burn deeper than a heated ricochet
from the weapon across your back.

You plead with me to stop,
And I answer
that I love your perfect scars,
and a curse passes your lips as the stars
burst behind your eyes.
I trail my fingers through your day
And tear off your disguise
‘Til you are nothing anymore.
but flawless,
naked,
mine.

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