how come no one talks about
the skin ripped off with the bandaid?
the sudden surmounting pain
that makes your knowing eyes well
like two glistening puddles
we picked at adhesive edges
until they curled over time,
neither of us wanting to
rip, yank, tear, jerk
at our frayed lifeline
the wounds are still fresh,
now simply uncovered,
exposed to the elements,
collecting dirt, bacteria and hurt
stinging to your tentative touch
if only we could stick together
like stitches woven in skin,
fusing flesh hearts into one,
but we wielded the scalpel
and both wept as our blood dripped.
A Place for Words 