Skin Shreds on A Highway
How sinister it is for a memory to linger on skin like the very dark end of a very long tunnel, like an alcohol rub against an open wound, like my back pressed against hot asphalt. Like your hands never reaching for mine. And my heart walking out on yours. Like all my memories, bundled, hidden and trickling out the barrel of your shouting tongue. Burn me in my blood, waste it away. For every drop will grow a blossom. Evergreen, ever-reminding of what the little kids needed to feed/feel to be.