-unfinished
your fingers softly slide over my form
as if hoping to soothe my wounds
but my heart still moves more blood
and more blood comes to kiss your hands;
these wounds, such small tears of the flesh,
blessings of your razor sharp kisses;
you, in your lust are ignorant in their origins
so I let your grasping arms surround me
the sweet copper smell of dying love
reminding me of my silent sacrifice,
bleeding to death in your tight embrace
a martyr's grave for the sake of love
-LBW 6/4/00
