Until it Hurts
Your painful pleasure
always climbs my mossy walls
and it is sweet
to make me suffer
with so much care.
can you see the leather stars
masking another metaphor?
can you see what is beneath
our abrupt black hearts?
love is bleeding
and I can drink this pain again.
look at us:
we are the same creative strangers
writing new rules, following old codes
after all these tied years.
what you owe, I owe too,
the servant is always master:
I am you.
boundaries dissolving,
our gods dancing.
we are beyond time.
we are beyond our own misery
and damnation
because
our poetics is made of self-denial
and symbiosis.
because
we love the way
we hurt each other.
