Emotions

Kisses Upon Tear-Etched Wrist

Tears that are etched into skin by the mark of a blade.

Flashes of each moment every time fingers brush jagged lines.

Scars that one may call a highlight of one's imperfections,

But I myself call the map of one's path.

The slip of balance into the darkness of one's mind

The ability to look into your eyes tells me you were able to grasp the ledge without a hand to hold,

By your strength alone.

With hands freshly done you hold my charcoal-stained ones.

You gaze with eyes full of an emotion that I can't decipher,

As I pull your arm closer to rose-tinted lips.

With the softness that the lick of autumns wind can only top,

Small kisses graze over each mark.

From the ones that are still bright with clotted blood,

To the ones you can barely see in the morning sun.

Slowly my lips make way until each one has been marked,

By if a blade, by a blade of captivation.

A blade that will continue to pass over tear-marked skin until such tears are replaced.

For all I want to see on your face, is the expression of content.

As I will always apply kisses on the tear-etched slits,

That decorates your wrists.