Like scraping paint off an old house...revealing the colors beneath...the depths of the times when somebody wanted something new...painting over again and again...creating a new view.
I think of you like that paint-scraper...that simple tool...planing away at the harsh wood of me...revealing my character layer by layer as you simply sheer aside what white-wash I have used to cover me up...what colors I have chosen...what scar tissue I have built up...these layers upon layers...they keep me heavy.
Like an eroding tide sucking away at the beach, you spill back and cleanse me...
It's not the swipe away of a tear or something maudlin like that...this is puncture the bone type stuff.
You plumb my depths...
Your words insert themselves like an injection...
Your glances pierce me like a cut glass...walking barefoot in a hallway splintered with broken bottles.
Your pull of me into you is a bone-saw.
You cut me to the marrow...you wield such grace and potential damage.
I fear the grip you have on my heart.
It still has bruises from before.
You.
You dive into the depths of me with such ease, you whirl and swim within, you scrape away the parts of me worth losing...and find in me the cleanest...and the closest that anyone could be.
And stay there.
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