My Past and I
Walk hand in hand
Every day
That I come to stand,
Grip adjusting
From a gentle caress
To a tugging demand.

And in
Laying in molten tar
And stroking frozen walls
I forget that hand; to mar
My skin invisibly to the core.

I am yet to understand
The warmth of that hand
How to hold it and
Be gentle without reprimand-
For the crumbling
It causes and the
Constant fluctuating
Pushes and pulls
A lull-
Laying me down to sleep.