Under the blankets are marks of love and hate
For you and our never-ending struggle;
Claws marked under the skin, or swords of words

Still I talk to you in my head, tiny whispers lingering
For the beating that slowly recuperates with wild imaginings
Of healing and warmth of the faithful, forgiving,
Embracing the cold of the storm and the thundering

Blows that echoes deep in the night
In my momentary solitude, once ours.

Once hours of love, now marked, blighted.
The faithful, the living, leaving with scars.

Under the blankets are traces of you
Marred and married in my skin,
Wounded deep with pain
- The heat lost its flame.