I want love
to bare its broken teeth
and bite down.
Stare down at me
as if you mean it, love.
Let your jaw snap back.
Reveal those bloody gums.
Take out your revolver
and slug me in the chest.
Every morning I wake up
without your gun to my head.
What will it take
for you to bare your mouth
to me?
What has to happen
for love to cock the hammer
and let the gun barrel roll?
Fuck me up, love.
Beat me to a beautiful pulp.
Make me the mess I want to be.
I need to feel my knees buckle.
Make me come crashing.
Let me come bleeding.
Leave the blood to swim away
from the bullet holes.
I want to hurt, pant and lose consciousness.
Take out your love gun.
Point that weapon at my face
and pull the trigger.
Better yet,
aim the firearm at your own heart,
let the chamber click forward,
and let love take us both down.
it's such a violent metaphor--love as a weapon. and yet it's such a beautiful and truthful metaphor too, as it speaks to our crazed want, desire, and NEED for it (unlike real violence and warfare). it's like you're asking love instead to blow you away. "take out your love gun"--bloody brilliant.
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