Dissolve.
Not into my gums,
But into the palms of my hands,
Finger tips no longer rubbed raw,
Nor calloused by tender repetition of motion,
That led my finger tips along a bruised spine.

No longer reliant on blades or bumps,
To witness rivers flow,
into empty streams,
That babbled only of the conflict between blame and forgiveness,
A family of no relation,
Roots no longer struggling to reach.
For they too had learned the wells had run dry,
And had long ago learned to look in other directions.

Je ne regrette rein,
i regret nothing,
except permitting the illusion of love the bled into your eyes,
later to leak from wrist, lungs, and gums the same.