Seeing Stone

The taste of blood is such a strange one: sweet and salty, coppery and like lightening

This hole in my hand where you tore out my heart is not scabbing over
It's just growing new edges
And dripping memories
On crazy quilt residences
We never built a pillow fort
Or made total love beneath the stars
But we cast pearls beneath platinum moonlight
and I am beginning to think that
Maybe I am tearing this hole larger
To see if it would form a seeing stone
A hole to the past where I can spy
Through dripping rubies
To past happiness.