i kissed your throat -
trobbing blood and
adam’s apple exposed.
made my mark permanent,
purple-blue bruises.
i left than,
went away,
with a sentiment of
emptiness caging my heart.

once my loyal advisor said to me:
if you love something,
leave it to be
it’s own thing.
a bird will fly away but if it loves
you it will come home.
a husband, a warrior,
a fighter will do it too,
just like i always come back
to help you.

so your hands and lips,
instead of pressing me
against the wall,
did a storm to my bare dark skin.
it sizzled in pain of the contact of a kiss
which wasn’t meant for me; we aren’t
perfect puzzle pieces who fit just right together.

we are sandstorms and hurricanes
with bright eyes and poison in our mouths
i talk north you talk south.
my hands transform stones into treasures,
while yours give woman pleasure.

but love,
i do not care with how many
you made into the night.
i care about how many nights you didn’t made into
because you were thinking
about you and me.
sweat, and blood and skin
even with closes eyelids.

—  a queen and her knight, M.V.