I knocked her door, wishing she will let me in into her heart, create a space so I can sing her love song, flushing away the blood of her pain and dismay, be the hair in her head, be the iris in her eyes, the arteries in her heart, the tilt in her breast, the bone in her hips.
But instead, she jam the door on my finger. My fingers swim in the blood of remembrance, I feel the pain in my hands, I feel the cries in them, they are broken.
©hedres
H