Oh God, the Blood

So delicate
This skin we pull
So tight to hide ourselves within
It isn’t much
For us to cut and drain
With but a simple touch

So delicate
These sentiments
So fragile in their infancy
It isn’t hard
To break apart the trappings
Of a weakened heart

The smell of smoke
Nicotine ghosts
In structures emptied long ago
On the better side of the worst side of town

At last she spoke
“I made my choice”
A whisper quivered like her voice
While traffic passed but it never heard the sound

Oh God, the blood
The stains are deep
A river cut
Into the streets
Oh God, the blood
My hands, unclean
Have testified
Of things we’ve seen

Oh God
The massacres we make
Of ones we crave
With sharp mistakes
Oh God, the blood
Is crimson red
From tender love
We left for dead

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Bitten

Lips against the crescent of her neck
He gently steals the essence of the angel
Replacing it with solace
Of a numb and silent sort
While the beating of her heart
Slowly quiets
In his arms

Silken smooth across his heaving chest
Her fingers trace the last of this resistance
Surrendering to shadows
Fully taken in embrace
Like the palette of her face
Fading graceful
In his arms

Whispered prayers attended with a kiss
The agony–imprisonmen–of fighting to exist
Her fragile body mending
From the ailments it had borne
Cure–from an unlikely source
As she changes
In his arms