Here come the lovely stars to make magnificent this splendid night. Nowhere would I rather be than here and now, with you.
Here is a gift, no don’t close your eyes, it’s not a surprise:
All the pain you gave me, wittingly or not, are in this box. I have cared for them, nurtured them, kept them well-fed and alive.
They thrived on the tidbits of your loving: your little kisses, and your sweet little notes, your light fingertips, and how rough you are after a drop of wine.
Say again you love me, out loud. I want to hear the little crack in your voice. The way it cracks when you stomp but forget to crush, when you slash a thousand superficial cuts, when you shoot to kill but somehow no one dies, when you turn into a ferocious animal with my throat in your fangs, and no emotion in your cold shark eyes.
Love was a red tongue that flicked out and stayed between your teeth, so I knew you could never bite.
I owe you honey, for wasting that moment, when instinct against instinct was deadlocked in the heat.
Teeth trying to kick, tongues wanting tear some meat, hands wanting to sing, heads wanting to fly, but somehow couldn’t get it right.
Why couldn’t I have raped you? Why didn’t you rape me? Why? For that, sorry.
Touch me where it hurts, my soft angel. I know that is what you sometimes like. Do it for all the times I was aloof, showed no feeling and did not try. Look! The stars are dancing! What an orchestra of light.
So don’t hold back, whatever, however, for all the times I could have, at least, cried. Make it me. Make it now. Make it how you want, what you say, all the way. For all the times I acted so strong, fighting you, and never once pretended to die.
In a moment when I open the box to let the bad things go, it is your pity I would like. I will miss the bastards. They hurt me but they kept me company in my lonliness. And now, I have nothing left to remember you by.
Whatever you do, whichever you like, however many times, I let you. It’s okay. Do your worst. It’s fine. Even better, do your best. Don’t just stab or. gouge or twist the knife. Sing a song as you make the hole of my wound bigger than the sky. This is no time to be shy.
Whatever is your pleasure to make eternal my everything tonight.
Oh, look! Here come the stars to make the world all right.