I’m going to love you very slowly; otherwise it’ll be without pain. I’m going to love you in a manner that will scold my skin slightly, then drive the wedge down every pore as if you can cut me millimetre thin by knife. I wish you to do so, slicing open the layers of my body’s largest organ, cutting neatly into the shape you see before your inner eyes. You will turn me into something more suited, more becoming of yourself. There will be mirages and mirrors, and I will be led by your cuts into a dance of drops, of blood dripping.
Cut open the breast, release the dove. Spread my raven fingers, peel off my reptile claws, and poke out my deep eyes, peering into the marrow of you. Make me as blind as the naked seeing clothing for the first time. Deliver me unto myself, to feel unfinished and raw. The making of a tormented and lonely god, shivering in his embrace, my brittle heart.
I’m going to love you like there is none other, as you are more than any else, breaking apart my sanity brick by brick. I'm going to love you like the undead woe their graves, crave the living. I’m going to be all you wish, want and desire. Take me, and undo me.
Sweetly, softly and kindly you will feel my voice brushing past your cheek, a tear staining skin you thought impeccable and obsolete of life. You will notice a stinging within your chest, ever careful and gentle. There will be no more.
And I shall love you like I’m dying.