Bruises on my ribs from a rock beneath the floor of a tent, bruises on my neck from your teeth and you have a beautiful jaw line. My fingertips dip, you say. That isn't normal. And colors in your eyes are impossible to replicate in my mind. I'll study your face, the skin on the back of your hands and the curve of your bones. That word makes me nauseous. Curve away from me, grow like a bonsai tree I say please then whisper apologies too often I know exactly what I want but refuse to chase it because I am temporary, I'll wound you and leave a beautiful scar. You have a beautiful jaw line.