the punch

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,


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


for kissing.


One thought on “the punch

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