The safety of arms, the cold loving embrace of hate. My knife kisses your chin as yours tickles my chest. They're sharp, needling things, probing skin and leaving faint marks of affection. We despite each other as much as we love each other. It never occurs to us to cut the chains, only each other. Every motion sends it rattling back, metal clanking on stone, the binding keeping us pinning tight together. Your heat presses into me even as your arms embrace me, as your lips meet mine.
There is a safety to this dance. It is a known state, a solved conundrum. The initial engagement into trading blows, the kiss of lips on teeth, of darting tongues and sharp things. Hold the knife in my mouth so I can caress you with both hands, so I can jerk my head and plunge it through your teeth as I pull you deeper into me, as I moan into your curves.
It's a delicate thing, a bird we cradle together. It's gentle and soft. It's the way the lazy mornings taste, my empty bed, your shadow in the corridor. It's the little song I hum to myself when I'm alone. It's called hope or hate or maybe just ambivalence. I don't miss you. I'll never miss you again.