This is a shame

This is a shame my love,

There is a hole in my hand

What you took from me,

Was this a part of your plan?

As you clasp my hand,

I feel your skin against my blood

yet it doesn’t pour out- it rests.

Absence of word, you do not speak

You so not share your sorrows with me

You took my words with

That part of my hand

The wound runs deep,

And now I’m left mouthing,

Scratching my glands.

This is a shame my love,

You thought you took my pain,

You took that part of me that was

Infected by a yellow stain.

Yet more than the infection that ran deep,

It’s the fullness I miss-

Running my index finger

Across my palm

To the other index tip.

And now I came back to absense,

Absynth

That never soothes my scratched throat,

Nor fills my cup

Can I be filled?

This is a shame my love,

That your well-meaning crime

Stole my skin

And replaced it with a ring-

A suspender that rests in my palm.

My palms pray,

My fingers run words across my hands.

In sign language, I ask

That from one unfilled hand to another,

This circle will be filled

Til I may clasp my whole hands

I cry out for your touch

Your blood rests against open skin.

You hold me now,

Such shame, my love

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November 25, 2011 · 10:22 am

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