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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