My tongue
A sweet silvery dagger's blade
The cool flat of it slipping over you like some archaic inhuman magic
Sometimes, however, it slips
The keening edge moves into the flesh of your soul
Like so many scalpels into mastectomy patients
And you bleed in ways
I never meant you to

I understand that the ache falls deep
That it's hard to forgive those who slash you
But hear me out
Because my arms are the deftest needles
That mend the human heart
From the inside out
They can do anything you need
But only you decide
If there will be
A scar