Bruise-veined and scarred
Caged in red white bone
I butcher it to feel
Scar it to remember
Untwist its bloody tendered weave
And tear it once again
Pain or perfection?
I raise a bottle to the pain.
The dull ache tightly clamps the rusty
Blunt blade of connection.
Hold fast if you like.
But the slow pull will always win.
Serrated edges create their own crimson exit
A dizzy agony of goodbye frees the mottled sword.
I remember now, how to stitch.
How to mend.
How to prepare this scarred pounded meat
For another cook.