I'll take a bitter kiss
if it heals the pain in my chest.
Bed-sheets stink of hate and unrest;
My nostrils fill with the smell of blood.
Hers. Mine. Ours. It smells like regret.
   But all is well;
It must be for the best.

Still I'll take a bitter kiss
over a night of hateful, fierce ***
  If it heals the pain in my chest,
  If it's what you think is best,
  If it calms this weary flood.
                                            These sheets stink of blood.
                                             Cut me until I cannot heal;
                                            Steal me until I cannot feel.
           Then I will rest, alone in a field
                                  of scarlet flowers
                              and azure starlight
                                     and no regrets.