SteemitPoetryContest #14: There would be no space left

There would be no space left

If the kisses inside my mouth turn into ink
And the scratches on my tongue snake into shapes,
The landscape of the skin I wear would change
To the point I’ll be a canyon of misspells.

Ankles shackled in promises bloom bruises
And the strings of vows would push my ribs apart,
Another whispered vowel pilling on, weightless,
To the unfinished story I breathe out as recite.

Confessions would mare the hands like pinprick freckles
And charts, horribly square, tattoo my thoughtful temples,
What a relief I find in thinking words leave no eroding
For I would have no space left free of scars.