Refraction.

Dawn.

The first dregs of daylight creep into the bedroom,
Into the bed, between us.
I know how dawn unsettles him; how he
Wakes to somebody else's memories
Of that someone else's night before,
How the early morning light
Accentuates the jet black tattoos on his skin,
And the pain smouldering
Within his head.
I understand it - the dread of having yet another
Day to face;
Of the consequences that arise
From one's actions,
With those actions simply being a response
To the consequences
Of the action before...
The light is unforgiving -
His scars are living, writhing creatures;
Ivory serpents,
How they savaged me last night...
My own blood lays
Upon the sheets, my skin, his fists,
Viscous splatters clinging to
Those jet black designs,
Yet I am comfortable with my head
Nestled against his chest.
A soft kiss, and he seeks to apologise, to formulate
Yet another strategy
To prevent this
From happening again.
It will always happen again; his desire
To be with me
Has always been stronger than any other
Whim, any plan, any worry.
Once again, he swears that he will never harm me
Again - to lose this love is his
Greatest fear, to hurt me is his second.
We rinse my blood from our flesh
By dawn's tender light.
His tears cause my wounds to sting.
My lips trace the tattoos across that taut chest,
And I smile as I reach his neck.
Softly, he says that he must go - much like he says
Every morning after someone else's night before.
As ever, I hold his gaze within my own,
And confess that I would rather die by his hand
Than alone; that we have witnessed
Each dawn of each day together,
Thus nothing new, nothing worthwhile,
Not even death's long-awaited embrace,
May start without him -
He is the beginning of
It all, and so
It matters not if he is my end;
Without a beginning, a start, a dawn,
There cannot be an end,
Be it of a moment, a day,
A lifetime;
Another tattoo, a weeping wound -
The morning light is unforgiving,
But I am not.