deepundergroundpoetry.com

ache

I sat curled in 
my own wreckage 
with rusted spikes 
jutting out of my body
like some sort of
avant-garde sculpture 

You cut yourself
on my lips 
and told me 

you told me 

you wanted to be the man
who showed me 
love doesn't have to hurt. 

I feel our ichor
drip below my thighs, 
as you pull me closer, 
the rend of your flesh
echoing in my ears

so you can let me
sigh against you 

and I do sigh, love 

because instead 
I showed you
that with me, 

it does. 

it does.
Written by Betty
Published
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