Your lips -
they parted like the Red Sea,
dripping words blacker than ink
across the blank page
that was my body.

Your hands
smelled of vanilla,
but rough like granules of sugar
stirred into teacups.
Your fingers,
they teased me,
snarling along my ribcage
as if trying to tie flowers along
my weeping torso.

The connection was instant
like a polaroid picture.
But the love was slow
like when a bump turns to a bruise.

And it faded, too,
just like all wounds do,
love does too.