May 2003 / Volume Four / Issue Two
Casandra Coin
A Wound

Line ‘em up
then pour them down.
This open red trap gapes and yearns
for more.

This time, fill all
of my aching caverns.
Fill them until they burst.
Fill them with pulsating ecstasy
until my belly overflows with the warmth of love
and tears stream freely down my cheeks.

It is hard to accept an embrace
when your arms have grown
as stiff as these.
Years of misuse
and these hands have learned to hide
in the dark places beneath my elbows.
Tiny pink and tattered fingernails cling tightly
and peek to see what’s behind.

So line’ em up.
Pour them full and quickly,
then pry these fingernails loose.
Do it softly though.
If you bend my joints too sharply
they will snap.

And these arms will never hold you again.
Return to May 2003