Ten thousand miles on these feet,
Two unbitten nails
and the rest are down to the skin.
I took your invalid hands
and held them cold and frozen in my own,
Every icy vein burning my skin
down to these guilty bones.
Frosty breath cleansing and bleaching like the sun,
Metacarpal twigs as pure as snow,
Those vacant pits glaring shamelessly
are your razors in my wrists.
I drop your hand as if the madness is catching;
Too many sad lines on those palms,
Those arms.
Your new engravings restore my flesh,
And hide these guilty bones.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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beautiful, full of feeling
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