My friend tells of how she wakes up with a sore body,
From explosive *******
And attempting her limbs at crazy positions.

I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

My body is sore,
Not from from *******.
Yet from you using it to mop the floor.
Whenever it is that you've met your woes,
I've met the sole of your shoes.

At one time,
I had to will my body to breathe even with my cracked ribs.
Because when you met your lows,
I connected fully and dangerously with your right hook
And powerful left blows.

How could I forget the time,
When I could feel your fingers tingling with joy.
At the feeling of my pulse slowing down?

Your eyes watered with memories,
Bearing tears that held our amorous moments of sunrise
And elatement at catching the sunset
Within each others aura of love.
The tears came crashing down
And I know deep inside that you were emptying our well of wonderous moments.

When you pulled my hair,
Images of our gasping, clawing, eventful, bed-filled moments disappeared.
Replaced instantaneously by a vision of myself.

Laying dead.

As is by your heart's command.

But I cannot leave.
I cannot run away.
Because when my friends chatter away about neck bites, hair pulling and tears in their lovers eyes,
I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

I just never let the true story unfold.