Bruises of Amour
Poked just once and you left a hole
stole what was in my arsenal;
Wounded with a laceration
now closer to no emotion;
Pincushion heart takes every prick,
the act can be so sadistic;
A needle’s eye a gaping wound,
bitterly mauled and then consumed;
So much space to make a mess of
thinking you fit me like a glove;
Softer than you want to admit
the marks remain after the hit;
Each stab paints a different color
bruises that look just like amour.
Copyright © Melani Udaeta | Year Posted 2023
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