Fingers dipped in melted chocolate
licked almost (not quite) clean
falling over into gravel and wearing
the imprints of the stones like testimony
like the ghost bruises sketched across
my skin – blurring blueing inky memories
of you.
My carpet smeared with darkened red,
wine or blood or both
(with you it’s always both).
The man in my dreams loves and hurts
In equal measure. I can’t tell if he’s you
but you kiss me just the same.
