Custom Search

Mar 14, 2007

A Cut

I thought had healed,
your memory unfaded,
You pick at the scab,
I promise myself
I will not cry.

Our gazes cold,
Our breathing slows,
Your hand is steady.


We've been over this before
I had already forgotten that day,
years ago.

Your questions,
unrelenting,
the cut now raw.
You have your answer.

No comments:

Related Posts with Thumbnails