S

jimhcppcr:

“i am made of war and she is made of love she mends what i tear apart the holes in the bronze hammered into my soul bruises blossom on her neck evidence of my savagery and she strokes my bones and clutches close my skin stitched together the patchwork pieces i would fight for her die for her again and again and again tear myself to ashes if only to fall between her fingers my wounds are jagged like broken glass and she kisses them and only when she rises do i see that there is blood on my hands and blood in her mouth i am made of war and she is made of love but what makes war if not love?”

if ares is the god of war, why do we shrink so from aphrodite?  (l.d.)

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