Love is a quotation mark,
two apostrophes pressed against each other,
warding away the cold of night.
I open my mouth against your jugular,
wetting the warmth of your neck with my tongue.
I could press and end the world;
the stain of your blood an exclamation point,
an emphatic shout of red upon the sheets,
a stain growing larger with every heartbeat.
That's the way love happens, sometimes.

02/18/2008

Posted on 02/18/2008
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