You told me I was beautiful,
Like bruises
With discarded purpose.

This purple slowly
Faded to yellow: the colours
Of your violent storms.

Our bodies became battlefields;
We danced in sheets,
And I experienced love like a fist:

Contusions and scars
Slapped into the shape
Of your wandering palm.

Your words blemished like bayonets;
Ploughing through esteem
Like a harvester amongst ripe crops.

Our lips violently met:
Sharing a brutal kiss:
An expected silent

Contract written in saliva.
I sealed our fate,
As we became a cemetery.

I breathed in, with breath
I never thought would
Taste so young.

[this is an updated version of the previous poem: I'm not sure which works better, I'd appreciate opinions]

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