If Ever Beckoned By the Broken Glass
If ever beckoned by the broken glass
I offer instantly these scarred hands
And bleed
Embracing sharpest, cruel edges,
most exquisite lines
And bleed
upon piercing, jagged, penetrating points
brilliant with dancing sunlight
And bleed
poured out into a universe benign, hard surfaces
warm in crimson puddles of all I was
And stand
And bleed
And know then –
Broken glass does not love back.
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