our bloodstreams met one night in November,
walking wounds still wet from the turning knife.
we clot together, do you remember
the holy healing as we regained life?
that wanton violence from our lovers
could have shredded but instead it unites.
skin occludes skin, I would have no other
soothe my burning as we turn acolyte
to the throne of dissolving stitches and
amort pain. but. I watch you pace. I cry hello.
our infected gash weeps, itches—
could this hole be our final damning blow?
I will twist our sinew to meet our need.
we, mutilation or mortality.
