Poetry, portfolio

Inexorable
Not quite pain,
Not soft, not rough.

My back burns
My lobster hands, un-phased.
Water reddens my skin
And I am cleaned as a steamed suit.

The toaster no longer
Exalts it’s own pop-up reaction
From me.
My fingers turn crumpets easily.

And your name,
Not quite pain, nor soft, nor rough,
Brands my heart no more –

Time has numbed me,
But protected me, I’m unsure –

My hands still burn, see…
I’m afraid one day, they’ll scorch.

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