what love is

Love is violent.

It is the scorch of heat upon sun kissed skin–

It is the punitive grip on a too thin wrist–

It is the chopping of pieces to be handed out like communion to the devoted.

Love is brutal.

It is the sting of a coarse hand on a pale cheek–

It is the scream of allegiance from the packed stands–

It is the blow of anguish to a stomach that has never been granted its fill.

Love is cruel.

It is the hidden embraces in sin covered backrooms–

It is the frantic encounters away from prying eyes–

It is the knowledge that this is wicked despite the sultry blossom in my lungs.