sitting in the waining evening
the thick black ink
eased onto my open skin
blotting out the blood and bruises.
Staring at it there staining my hand
i thought i might disolve into a line or two
of words. Something deep like an ocean
something rivaling emotion.
the ink spread like a black hill
rising on my skin.
I wish i could dissolve into a word. In words
love is real
hate can kill
people can push and pull and pinch
and we need never move.
In a poem you and i can exist.
while outside it is the rain
wipes my footprints from outside your door.