The intimate connection of pain,
To a thing.
In some houses, human flesh
Is a delicacy.
The finest of translucent pink oysters
To whet the palate.
The flesh of another watering the mouth,
rolling down the throat,
pumping through the blood
Marries their bodies.
In some houses
Blue Bruises live inside the skin,
Snapshot of a fist.
Hits the base of the skull
Recalls pink ripping cries
Stakes a claim on the heart
With a thick
Black
Chain.
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