There was an earthquake at his core.
A warm, beautiful crack in his porcelain skin.
The fracture stretched from wilting lips
To the sultry caress of midnight breeze
Between his arms.
They destroyed you so far
You could not hold the rose
They tore at your throat and your tongue
And scratched your teeth to the gravel
I tasted in your stare
Until you could not breath without them.
. . .
He had a smile that pulled until it bled.
And it was all mine.
But it was never me
You meant to break.
I waited all these years to walk under
The same sun,
To bleed the morning dew
Under your skin.
You never saw the fracture under my lips.
Of a lilac hue, bedside secrets caught the drops
Of aridity you called your love.
A broken sun,
You burnt until you bled
And washed the Bleeding Hearts