A Calling Home

This battered soul,    he comes to me, With rage    and fire burning.  His eyes aglow,    embers of green,  Full of power,    deeply yearning. A warrior's heart,    encased in iron, Deeply scarred    and bleeding still. Forsaken by,    the world of men, Enduring only    by his will.  His every breath,    a demon’s whisper,  Unbridled magiks,    in his gaze. Such endless sorrow    fills his soul,  Yet passion still    remains unchained. He comes to me    for soothing, A gentle cleansing    of the wounds.  A balm upon    the aching soul, kindred spirits,   carved in runes. His touch    is one of danger,  Love decaying,    left to rot. White phosphorus    and sulfur,  Lethal pleasure,    stealing thought. His kiss    takes me to madness,  Hostile possession. Obsession. Obscene.  Such fury withheld    by tenderness, A cosmic freedom, So pure. So clean. When he comes,    I can't deny him. For I am his,   As he is mine. Salvation from,   The wars within, A calling home,   Through space and time.