marks

I knew you long ago,

We joke my birth marks are bullet holes,

But what else could they be,

When they cover you too,

You’re a criminal,

And you’re breaking into the house that holds my heart,

You’re digging into me,

Holding me hostage,

And I can’t complain,

As I stand frozen in fear and awe,

I don’t ask you to stop,

I never would,

Once a victim,

Now I hold your hand beside you in the passenger seat,

What else could two thieves need,

It must be the bullet holes,

That stain our skin,

A mark that time couldn’t erase,

And our minds couldn’t forget,

A soul like yours,

And a wicked smile like mine,

That brought us back together,

That was a past life,

But you’re not there,

You stand in front of me,

A victim of time,

And hostage of my heart.