the memory of us in poetry

love is mainlining the idea of you
spiking your words into my blood
taking your name into my veins
injecting myself into your life
cut it with sugar cut like a knife

love is ritual scarification of the heart
tattooing behind my eyelids in your art
scabbing over with every poke of your story
bleeding weeping raw for days on end
only later revealing the details pristine
gouged into me by infernal machines
under cold neon lights in the alley of night

love is the tumor of doubt
a scalpel exising it out
love is the dent there
that dimple of flesh
marked skin forever
more and somehow less