Home is You

I trace the scar above your brow, a tiny river, dark and deep, that mirrors storms I know you keep behind your eyes. I watch you now, your sharp words, like a flung glass shard, yet I collect each broken piece. My foolish heart finds its release in knowing you, however hard. This twisted want, a vine that clings, to whisper how I need your gaze, through all your cruel and tangled ways, my secret, bitter offering.