I
storm, in the morning light
we are under the covers, legs intertwined
clutching our urgent hearts
huddled together in the twilight theatre of our youth

your fingers ghosting up and down my thin frame
exploring,
possessing,
staking out your territory.
you start to trace my scars
i turn away from you
but your tiger eyes are on me,
unrelenting, merciless.

"what are these?"
"battle scars."
"what were you fighting?"
"myself."

suddenly,
your lips are all over me
like a recalcitrant child, i offer up every single nook and cranny
and i watch you fill me
over,
and over again.

II
the prickling of rain on my skin
like ghost fingers of a nameless lover.

and in the distance, i see a faint silhouette dissolving.