a conquest of love

I love the way
our skins touch,
entwined
with the scars
and bruises
and open wounds
of wars fought
over love,
with love,
not the docile love
of doe-eyed deers
melting into soft greens
and browns,
but the ferocious love
of claws and canines,
of what is ours
through territories
drawn and re-drawn,
roaring in the folds
of utter darkness,
where you and I
smell each others moods
from a distance,
where a twitch of skin
and a fleeting far-away look
in our eyes, is enough
to speak our love,
that cannot be understood,
only lived
through every fight
and conquest,
of what the world
will never see as love.