Come to me, darling,
in the midst of this sleet storm.

Come with your chest open,
your heart pumping.

Forget the words I thew and
the glass that screeched across the room.

Forget the night you held my hand
and whispered her name.

Don't bring a bouquet of apologies
or a fistful of daises.

Don't tuck your marionette strings in
your back pocket.

Leave all your master tools at home,
and come home into my arms.

Lay with me and show me the ****
interior of your veins.

Break apart my rib cage and steal
a gulp of air from my lungs.

Borrow a scalpel and let's peel away
the layers of each other's skin.

****** the bed in the process, but
bask in the honesty of muscles and tendons.

Reveal to me secrets hiding in your intestines,
and I'll introduce you to the skeletons in my mind.

Risky? Yes. But maybe we'd be a pretty kind of sad,
like a broken butterfly wing stuck to the pavement.