You'll sail through my blood,
the first time I've ever ever
been so entirely consumed,
an exotic element to you as
you pulled me away from monsters

As if the telling of those tales
spilled war's memory from me.

There will be no solidarity to me, love,
no origin without cracks or foreign blood
coating my restless blade.

But you come to me without pretension,
with ceaseless devotion no man should question.

There will be a whisper, though,
a force wrapped in bone and flesh,
a myriad of reasons behind a malicious aim,
this fixation smelling my weakness like a wound,
like a bare body discovered in the chamber,
the virus mapped to the the only place
where my heart can be speared.

Just a seed, just a duality to our story,
one side of the bloom knows violence,
the other is genetic, mapped to loathing,
to twisting any purities colliding.

I cannot believe the bursting stalks,
I only want to know the stars in her eyes
on the night we first made love,
the contrast of our skin as we joined,
not the suspicions spreading callous roots.

There will be whispers, though,
professing love for another from
within the safe womb of a dream,
and the light once sailing through
my blood becomes incalculable rage.

I've seen words mouthed from afar,
the returning of a treasured token
once carefully woven with magic
now draws a fatal plan,
an irreversible map.

It will never be the rope or blade for you, love,
your exit must be quiet and soft,
as gentle as your chaste eyes were
when they once feel entirely upon me,
I will keep the blade for myself.

Any fallen lover or soldier deserves no less.

Just a seed, a duality to our story,
one side of the bloom only knows violence,
the other was mapped to the pulling of strings
that the stars never revealed the cold spindles of,
both sides will die here with you.

Both sides will always love you.