the minute that i entered your coven
i groaned about how tired i was
how sick
and i kneeled at the bottom of your stairs
waited for your grace to allow me to continue
laid down on your bed
and realized i could not find your scent
buried in the pillows without covers
like a piece of art in the rain
without a tarp
but you wrapped your arm around me
and all i felt was the meat
and blood
and so i scratched at them
to make you happy.
the hair on your arms reminds me of the way any living creature appears
when the sun grazes its presence
at just the right angle.
every piece of you is pale
and pale - fragile
fragile - weak
but i could feel your muscle.
and that makes you a walking contradiction, my sweet.
your collar bones have not once been freckled by anything other than my bite
and specks of sang.
you are not allowed to break them
because he did the same
and you are not him.