The Wound

Rupture breaks through the skin,

Bleeds, leaves a gash, cools.
Comes to rest.

On my back the cooled flow
Creates a ridge, a gap.
I watch the searing glow solidify,
A map of its path across flesh.
I scratch the scab to see inside,
The raw wet pain of my body,

Your body in pain, this thin place,
Where we each live, the wellspring
We share.

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About alicebarrett

Small town writer
This entry was posted in Literature, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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