Calloused

My calloused palms 

have bled 

over the years, darling, 

easing into 

the beginnings 

I paved for myself

using your laughter

as my carving knife,

to battle the demons 

that danced 

in the creases 

of your forehead 

and the tensions 

of your shoulder blades, 

driving wedges

the size of universes 

between us, 

leaving us

tethering at cliff’s edge. 

My hands bled 

when I held you first, 

a tiny vessel holding 

all my joy in this world;

And they bled when

you danced with me

in the rain, darling, 

my blood flowing

happily along with 

the rivulets of rain. 

My calloused hands

bled when you laughed, 

when you sobbed. 

My calloused hands 

bled through the ages

and dried one final day, 

when they cupped your face

and whispered love

before they stopped 

bleeding forever. 

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