New blood runs deep until experience dulls its throb A breath of satisfaction spoiled by so much sincerity It leaves

a stain in its place, an afterthought, the evidence of healed wounds Drying tears on once innocent cheeks The skin has gained a fresh pallor; another has claimed its warmth Skeins of stillness drift across such tired flesh Whether vein or hollow strand I have no desire to discern Juxtaposed to no purpose than to pity can only guess an age, if any Whether it is your own by choice or a punishment you were made to bear A muted refrain sails from your tongue, shaped by sweetly restless lips A signature lost to repetition A final kiss laid bare between heaven and hurt Supine Barely remembered but forced to linger To twist and taint all that it has yet to touch as that it has already encountered A conflagration of dust The shadowed crescent of a spine The last words to my ailing kin The trinity of our end We’ve come to know and suffer such moments Too long Defined and designed to fail us as we have them The symmetry of an old deceit, fit to convulse at the mention of itself We are old Cruciform, we fold upon ourselves Anatomy turning, a consuming spiral And are left to rot

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful