I’m made of skin, and your love is a knife; strong, cutting deep, drawing blood. Peeling back layers until it’s inside the most vulnerable part of me. Past the wave-like wrinkles that show just how hard I worked for those three, stupid words. Through sensitive tunnels and pathways, see the flowing blood I pump for you. Into the beating drum of my heart, know it only beats for you, I live for you. But I’m still made of skin, and your love is a knife; powerful and destructive, cracking my most fragile parts.