heat ;
he is beautiful;
there are stars in his eyes
and heat in his mouth
and his breath tastes like whiskey.
i love him,
love him until the stars flare up and burn his irises
and the heat from his mouth blazes my lungs
and his whiskey breath utters putrid words that rip my limbs from their sockets.
he rolls his scorching eyes
and throws his blistering words
and it is that that scares me -
not his clenched fists or slammed doors or gashes he makes in the walls,
it is his words.
they are searing and stifling and
bloody scarlet red,
they dance on his tongue and tear his soul from his chest,
and crack his jaw so it opens and closes on their command.
he doesn't hit me -
he doesn't need to;
his punches are woven into the poetry that falls from his lips.
he is beautiful and red-hot and angry,
and so i am leaving today;
i will bathe in ice water and weep in the dead of winter
until his heat is lost from my flesh.