I suppose this is how the story goes
from mussed hair to your curled toes
from present skin and your absent clothes
this isn't poetry, this is strictly prose
it serves only practice and purpose
it is both malice and your bliss
with each well placed callous kiss
we both slide further toward abyss
bite and scratch like the animals we are
passion burns like the brightest star
but all fire will be reduced to char
I'm not a savior, but another scar