My bruises are happy
Because they are yours
Flowers of a fleshy earth
Opening their colorful petals and drooping
Dignified against my skin

It's not about blood
Some normal flow of life
Floating beneath my membrane
It's not about the pain
Dull aches caving towards the inside
And bursting in the deepest centers
No it's not about the words
That people say when they see
When they hear and when they think
Like people like to do

It's the pictures you paint to my insides
About what you're doing on the outside
Breaking up the parts of me that are invisible
To optics and x-rays
It's the beauty in the irony
Taboos mixed with a sense of right
Of white pretty purity plastered around the
"Sin"
It's about knowing no one else is this
This masterpiece along my skin
This growing glow inside of you
That darkens when it touches me

It's a lightened sketch
It will fade
But still

I am yours