Her lips were
       razorblade kisses,
bleeding the lust from
every motion that leant me
                                       forward.
For the inevitable
           torture of our wounded love.

We were bound by the chains that
gripped within our small collection
of touching moments.
                    You would sculpture
my endless intrusion, forge me into
someone I wasn't before I feel below you.

Now I pray for you to free me,
          the ******* of our coupling.
Constricted to the many time you
cut the voice of our reasoning from me.

*"Love is a hell of our own creations,
         "And your's cuts me deep enough
                     to love you more with each laceration,