The Language of Scars

Only I know the meaning
of the shadows in your eyes,
I track the light as it passes
across your face.

Each of your scars
speaks a language of its own,
my fingers tremble to touch
for each one sends a whisper
that shivers down the edges
of my soul.

Your lips, blue as the moon
on a cloudless night
taste of bourbon & smoke,
dreams & death,
life reawakened.

I press my ear to your throat
listening to the echo of your heart
and I know if I hold your pulse
between my teeth
you will be mine.