It’s so soft…so ripe…so ready….all open
May I pluck it?
Keep it stashed away?
Promise to give you mine
But only if i can wrench yours out
Will it squirm to leave?
Will it writhe in pain?
Will you shush its cries?
Will you deny its scars
The ones it can’t seem to hide so well?
You’ve been hurt, I can see it.
And yet… There you hold it in your hands…
It’s slid from your sleeve and into your tear stained palms…
You hold it out so bravely… With abandon…. With perhaps a stupid stupid naivete…stupid.
Its turned away so i can’t quite see that it’s still bleeding…. That a part of it is still waiting….pulsating
I had no intention of ever staying.