my son was taken from me before I knew he was mine.

     when this is true
I can talk to no one but God.

I rub my hands under a faucet you’ve yet to turn on.
I hate the faucet so much my hands swell.

your mouth is a bullet hole covered by a before picture.

after therapy, I put my son on my shoulders.
he bites the top of my head.

your legs work.  you are who you think you are.