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.