The Past

Your hand 

punctures mine 

as you grab hold, 

glass digging deep 

in lacerated hands, 

never letting go, 

you cease to feel 

so you send me your pain

as if I were enough 

to contain all of our tears, 

a stroke of your hand 

on my cheek

draws blood

that you have forbidden 

me to show

and your hand 

claws to my bone, 

fire from your anger

melting us together

until I can’t let you go

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