bathed in tears for Him
clothed in bruises of Her
gripped at the scapula
hating, wishing, hurting

but in facing apocalypse
complete damnation
whose hands would you clasp
whose fingers could hold you steady
in absolution
when the song sings
for the last time
when the last dance
is reaching its demise

an imperfection laced with another


who would look
at those battle wounds
and whisper to them

who would caress
at those exposed flesh
and exclaim

who would love
as much as
you hurt me?

we fought a war, love
i want to see
the end of the world
within your clasp.

Written in 2009.


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