Love

Love is a blood-hound,
dogging my steps,
trampling on my feet
until my face turns purple.
It is a glittering sapphire with stiletto points,
attached to my chest with a platinum clasp.
At night I lie down on love's lumpy mattress,
my neck cricked by pillows of contentment
that have turned to stone.
I listen to your sunset breath,
feel the smokey movements of your body.
And, when I rise,
I cover my body with your sour wool,
your scratching promises.
Love slaps my face for you,
marks me out.
It digs its scarlet finger-nails deep into my chest,
squeezing my onion-heart
dry of its undiscovered perfume.