cicatrix

That night was loose with laughter
and warm breezes rustled maples
just starting to turn. And you,
I didn’t even know you except
for glances stolen over the eight ball.
You rescued me from the drink I spilled
chivalrous as you held my arm and
danced me through the crowd.
Faces flickered with color from summer
or it could have been the alcohol
measured by the rising din
that sounded like a roar.
We left
for the moon and the stars and home.
You walked slowly, your step careful
as you leaned on a cane of polished oak.
You grimaced from the prick
of a pin in your hip,
I tried to kiss away the scar.
It was cruel, a purple cleft
buried deep within your skin.
In your room I uncovered another
thick and pale, that split your chest
when your sternum was rent,
because the bone pressed on your heart.

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