i polished and mended myself for you

that i might be prized

that you might see in me something to be treasured –

i gave you my healing skin and half-treated wounds, and

you kissed and tore into the knotting flesh like it was cobweb-fragile

like i was made of silk, stretched thin -

damaged me with your very own violence of love.

your hands warmed the hollows of my body

and left me bruised

and broke my fingers where i had left them, caught in yours

(your tears sting, still,

in the places where you have beaten me raw)