What is it about you
that makes my desire
an open wound

sealed with
your
compassionate touch alone..

Why is it
I  wince,
haunted by thoughts
adorned and quelled only by you.

Paint me like a master
With traces of  your stained hands
along my gaping silhouette.
Heal me with finger tips tainted by mine own blood.

Draw me into your murderous self,
Love me back to life.