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When I trace the scars on her shoulders, thick
as my finger, grotesque tattoos that wrap
around each arm. When I kiss her lithic
muscles she starts to tremble. She could snap
my spine like that. She has killed thirty men
like that. When I play with her softest part,
the part I will not name, her talismen
I call a lifetime of love, my sweetheart
opens. It’s not words but other’s secrets
that that I won’t share. When I light her lucky
strike she groans the earth before volcano’s
blow. She clamps my face in place; her ringlets
tease my nose. I love her, from her forty
broadsword strokes to each of her missing toes.