You Told Me Once That Love Is A Gentle Thing, But When I Say Love I Always Mean Violence. I Mean My Mouth

You told me once that love is a gentle thing, but when I say love I always mean violence. I mean my mouth as a slaughterhouse, something you need but could never truly look at. Me kissing you full on your split lip. Love is lemonade made with the rinds and no honey. A child that wants but never speaks. Love is I’ve never known how to touch without hurting. Love is my mother with her sewing needles, teaching me how to bleed.

LOVE AS RADIO SILENCE // h.y.k (inspired by Darshana Suresh’s An Exploration of the Unknown)