There was one last communion

stretched thin between us, razor-fine

tightwire which when severed,

would crumble whole cities of dreams.

Hot salty tears tracked peach cheeks

and words frozen in my heart,

unable to speak for fear of saying the wrong words

at the right time.

And we offered meager excuses

why this abrupt slice of pain

would be a healing gash,

but we knew the scar would knit

and knot to a complicated infectious

poisoning of the blood,

fever of the soul,

even as now I still tap

that agonizing wire of

fractured human connection.