"Did that hurt?" she giggled, after the first punch. I stared at her defiantly. No, it didn't. "How about this?" she frowned, hitting me harder. A fairy kiss. A gnat bite. The gentle caress of the breeze. No, I goaded. Her face was thunder. "This will."

There was a dull ache and a charcoal smudge for a couple of days before the bruise blossomed in the place where she had planted her love. A leafless demon flower of purple, yellow and green petals, with red pinprick stamens at the centre.

This contusive bloom will wither and fade away, but its story endures. Sometimes you're the arm and sometimes the hammer. Sometimes they're one and the same and the love that makes the blows is also the love that takes the blows.

Posted by Hg on Wednesday 12 March 2008 at 07:06.
Received 1 comments so far.

Comments

A beautiful dull ache.

Comment by rr on Wednesday 12 March 2008 at 18:35.

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