i had rewritten history on your skin, as the words disburdened my body, and poured themselves right upon your flesh in the form of breathless moans. the greatest battle won, the order after the war; you were my idea of solace. you'd fit into the contours of my body, and your hands ignited a long lost spark upon the grounds of my flesh. oh, the things i'd do, to have you one last time. to hear you hum as felicitously as you did when i poisoned paper with the ink which bled for you. you are the ache in my heart, you are the ache in my soul. you are the ache in the words which no longer belong to you.