Love Language

I hold your wrists
so you can’t slit them;
if I bathe you in pleasure,
maybe you’ll forget the
jangle-glass hounds
that dog your croons,
and if you can’t forget
maybe you’ll just swoon.
They call it love language,
how affections express,
and my love language comes
by dermal caress:
if I make you lose count
of little deaths now,
perhaps the big deaths
will be eased somehow.

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