There are holes in me
Where liquid seeps through,
Flooding thick beneath the surface of my skin,
Silky to your touch,
over your palms like kisses.

There, that is the spot where it hurts;
A cut deep from years ago,
An ocean of memories gushes out
When you press it.

And yet the smoothness soothes like slumber,
A comfort,
Letting your hand off and
Letting the tears soak through, and
Finally the letting ebbs.

The pressure and the relief,
The leaking, a tide, and
Your hands moving over me,
clay over cracks,
cleansing, closing.

Back to Issue 1, 1999

The Pen and Anvil Press


ISSN 2150-6795
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