without sutures

without-sutures

The epitome of mercy,
The warmest hand I can caress you with,
Have you seen this much humanity,
Of soul and apprehension, a spiritual blacksmith.

What will become of you,
When this kindness strikes your core,
Will you pull it out and throw it aside,
Continue this endless war.

My flesh is for the taking,
I offer it sincere,
I come to you ever quaking,
Without sutures, so have no fear.

Come, near, come near,
This rupture will remain,
It’s rot and stenchen, pungent distension,
But it’s open,
Inviting to the inside of me,
To your surprise, you’ll see we pain, the same.

W.E.

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