The memory of pain,
forever etched like the cracks on a statue.
Remnants of a forgotten master, a dead king.
Visible historical lamentations,
so much clearer than simple memories.
A touch,
Digits entwined,
The proximity of two engines
As their gears turn, synchronized,
Soft, fragile, corruptible,
Yet dangerous, raucous, unheralding.

So strange to lose control.
The overpowering eagerness,
the invisible fishhook
reeling two flailing hearts
from the comfort of the sea.

And yet only the superficial wounds remain.
Worn like jewelry.
The softer scars,
the ones that heal.