You Sleep Between the Sighs and the Sunrise

You sleep between the sighs and the sunrise.
Scratch marks running down your back like train tracks,
Chasing the curvature of your pale spine
And the memories of moans in the black.
You wake each day with fresh finger traces;
Repeatedly healed in the night until new.
Different, distant. Slowly, you are time-changed –
A concertina of hands holding you.

But not mine. Meanwhile I stitch the remnants
Of what is left in the depths of my dreams;
Wearing your aftershocks as a pendent,
Oscillating wildly between extremes.
The doctors would call my love a crisis.
My lips condense heartbreak into silence.

Citrus Kisses

When in anger you slip into my chest,
You unleash a pain that grows like ivy
And spreads in a hot, poisonous unrest,
Tightening around my flesh masonry.

You scratch and twirl your delicate fingers
Around my trembling branches of ribs
And then splinter each bone twig. You linger
On each nerve, ending. You search in my skin.

Dig down to find my origami heart
Of disjointed angles and let it ache
In your smaller hands. You pull me apart
But between your lips I am yours to take,

Because even though each wound sings you vicious
I still crave the sting of your citrus kisses.