- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bruises And Other Memorabilia
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I can look over myself in a way that tells a story.
A story only I know, but that others can see.
I look carefully from place to place.
From cut to scar to bruise to slice.
I see disappointment in the long jagged scar on my arm.
I see fear in the swelling bruise on my face.
I see terror in the deep cut on the of my leg.
I see what I thought was love in the slice in my arm.
Combined in their harmony is when it comes together.
Where the story can be read in it's entirety.
Your eyes must simply know which one to go to next.
And then you will share it all with me again and again.
Like The Ancient Mariner before me, I must tell my tale.
When the pain is fierce and the time is there for it's telling.
It is part of the penance I must pay for that which I have done.
It is the release that my soul must have to feel pure and whole.
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