I've been a fool and I've been blind
never able to leave our past behind,
The wound drips, stains the cotton red
but I remember its beauty once, thread
and needles dancing a cold waltz.

River rocks grind to a halt, petals
bend on one knee to accept the nettles
like a hapless king. I remember, I refuse
to forget the bubbling spring of gentle abuse
where my heart gasped for air.

Our season of contentment has turned fallow,
our wounds bleed through a shadow
of a life we could have loved. Bury your
hands in the dusty soil, trace the gore
trembling down your sleepy hands.

Let's lay our demons to rest.