You are the strange delicacy of a bruise,
turning in color with the passing of the hours and
radiating with a lingering hurt.

You are like hot water to the skin,
beating and burning until it scalds the surface but
soothing a deeper pain.

You are the knife I turn inside myself,
the wound I pick at while it tries to heal,
the flame I hold my hand up against
even though I know how it hurts -

and that is the beauty and burden of love.