the
seismic wiring of fingers
pressing
flower petals, scent
smudged
along ridges,
a
dendrochronology; drought,
shade,
years smoothed with rain
and
every time I touched you the scars
were
consumed eventually. it isn't enough
to
know, my faith only works in flesh.
the
cover's blown, let the fire burn
round
the circumference past the point
of
healing, past the point of desire
.
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