feeling wounds in bark
- In the forest I found a tree with a few hatchet marks in the bark and felt their lines and how they've scarred over with my finger tips.
- Finger tips brush over lips and feel the ridges of their bark.
- Parting lips expose ivory teeth in the dark pine wood of my memory.
- Someone hit this tree only a few times with a hatchet. Why?
- Lonely blade swings in the year my dad first kissed my mom.
- Someone that looked just like me but wearing the old and cool clothes of the period (atleast nostalgically) struck the tree with a hatchet just a few times and then stopped and moved along.
- Retreating to you my dark pine wood rooms with my palms full of ridged bark that I can squeeze and crush and smell.
- Crumble away crushed bark and fertilize my bed covers.
- Crumble away scar tissue and fertilize my abyss.
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