Does it hurt?

I always wait, eagerly,
For his hands to pull me closer to him
His arms around me tight enough that
I feel like one single piece, molten gold
Instead of disjointed bits welded together
Bits and chunks loosening up, worn out from unyielding pressure, changing shape, losing sparkle
I revel in the feeling of abandoning my armour in his reassuring, tender self,
Transformed into a treasure.
And I never seem to remember he has scars of his own where the darkness seeps through
Because they are so well kept out of sight.
I’m afraid to touch him, because
He recoils away from it
And I always thought it was because he was too strong for that nonsense,
It was only because he didn’t want to feel weak or vulnerable.
Tell me where it hurts you,
You don’t have to raise your fists up at me.
I come in peace, not looking for war.
Tell me where it hurts,
I cant do much than clean the wound for you.
It will still be there, but it will heal over time.
Instead of festering inside of you.
And when it starts to heal, you can bet I’m keeping your hands away from picking at the scabs.
And when it has healed, and faded away,
Do not recoil from my touch,
I do not hold a knife behind my back.
My clothes are strewn by the doorway.
My armour has been cast off.
Allow yourself to feel, what you have been holding back so long.
And don’t be afraid of moulding yourself to my fingertips,
But for that, darling
You must show me where it hurts.