I must admit, the damage done
has served me well. This hole
we tore in my heart opened a door
for my captive emotions,
hugs, longing gazes, a kiss,
and even streams of words like this,
to finally break free.
Across these expressive decades,
through all their joy and pain and
drying tears, I never sought to heal it.
To close the hole and seal it
with a scar would return me
to my hermit cell, and its days
of numbing darkness within.
I’m growing tired, though,
and see my body bending with age,
feel this heart folding upon itself.
That’s why some tomorrow or
its tomorrow, you may not feel
the warmth and scratch of my cheek,
won’t again sense my lips
brush yours in such whispered song.
That would tear a hole in my soul.