I measure love out in bruises;
The thumpthump of a beating
Heart tired of excuses – like the
Withering tongue of a cigarette
Passed from mouth to mouth:
The ashen remains of a kiss…
I measure out love in bruises…
That’s an ambiguous line
Whose love? Yours or mine?
What does measure mean?
And are those bruises seen
By everyone else or metaphorical?
Nevertheless i think its dreadful
That love can be so hurtful.
thewriterwithaquiff 