Battle Scars

She ran her hands over his face,
What looked rough was soft,
The new skin was tender,
Sensitive despite the nerve damage,
He shivered beneath her touch.
She was one of the lucky ones,
Tears threatened to fall,
Such a waste of a man,
Where once there was perfection,
Now lay a disfigured cripple,
Her own personal casualty of war.
Slowly she bent her head to his chest,
Her lips kissed along new ridges,
His healed burned flesh was cool,
Contrasting with the heat from her mouth,
He shuddered as her tongue lanced out.

It was amazing what civilized humans did,
Torturing and burning and pillaging,
Just to win over a bit of land,
Change a ruling class by force,
Appease a nonexistent god,
Claim a lost loved one...
Scars are all that remained,
Torn land and torn people,
Each struggled to rebuild,
Restructure for retaliation,
An unending infinite loop.
The end result was always the same,
Men came home to their families broken,
If they made it home at all,
And the women had to make sense of what was left,
Each dug deep within to find beauty remaining,
Something she was learning to do.

She remembered how handsome he was,
How invincible he once looked;
The tears splashed down,
All she tasted was salty soft skin below her kisses.
His hand rested behind her head,
Soothing murmurs met her ears,
He pulled her back to his ruined face,
He turned his head so only the familiar remained;
The pain he felt was only half physical.
She stalled and resisted his arm,
She stared as she straddled him,
Lifted her own hand and grasped his chin;
It was like inspecting a child for injury,
First one side of the face,
Then turn to see the other.
There! She found him underneath the burns,
Tears halted their progress,
A sad but genuine smile hovered around her lips,
She was one of the lucky ones.