by C. Ikpoh

Your imprint is indelible, and these scars are your signature. As my fingertips course them, my lips mouth your name; a name that shivers through my manhood soul deep. It is masochism at its purest . I yearn for more - these tortuous scars. They could only be left by you, and just as each signature is authentic, each carries its own memory. Your words, your eyes, your tongue, your lips: all tips to the blades that carve my being. The ink of my life beats crimson to reveal your success through these scars of mine as you author your story, as you etch your flawless design. It hypnotizes my gaze. Such perfection must be marked in eternity, as the mastery you forge my flesh with is unparalleled and eternal. The markings are topical, but the effects will forever be felt within. Your fingers are needles, sliding ever so easily in and out of my pores, leaving perpetual images of raw emotion. Your words flow smoothly over the drums of my ears, chipping away at my brain's fragile integrity. Why must you mark me so? Why must you brand your capture? Why must you scar me?