Hilda by Duane Bryers
I think I just found my perfect woman.
Alexander the Great cried and fell to his knees while burning down the city of Persepolis, but that never stopped him from lighting the matches. It never stopped his armies from destroying all there was of a beautiful empire. It never stopped the monuments from crumbling. Sometimes our pride speaks too loudly for us to hear our hearts, and this is what we are left with. A throne, with no city to rule. I don’t know what lands you have made yours since you destroyed me, but sometimes I stick my tongue out when it’s raining and I taste you.
I taste your soft. I taste your quiet. I taste your whimper. I taste the knife you kept at your side. I taste your ‘I have to do it.’ I taste blood. I taste blood. I taste my blood.
You were always more textbook than love letter, and I’m sorry for turning you into anything more than a soldier at war. But if you ever get tired of screaming bullets and sandpaper skin, please come home. I will have a poem written for you, and my voice will be waiting, soft and strong. But only if you are ready to wave a white flag like an apology. Only if you are ready to mean it this time. Only if you are ready to replace the ticking bomb inside of you with a heart.
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