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.