You reach out
your hand, formed as a fist,
and slam it in my chest
caving in my rib cage
and the splinters cut my flesh
wide open to expose
my still-beating heart.
You do this again and again
shattering my human form
and turning me
into this hulking mass
of bleeding flesh.
Love takes no prisoners.
It would rather leave us
lying there on the empty street corner
a bloody mess for the carrion
than to let us walk freely
and unharmed.
Without spine,
without legs or arms,
we crane our necks skyward
and ask for “more.”
One more punch,
in the face,
please,
to end it all.
But it doesn’t.
He won’t.
The face remains untouched.
Love frees the heart
from it’s skeletal frame
and leave the face
flawless
for kissing.
Beautiful! —–> atticus_1982