I finger the suture
That knits my wound
And feel the twinge
Of sweet pain,
Of longings unfulfilled
That lie coiled beneath
My skin.

It slithers against my touch
Twisting in self-defence.
Raises its hood
And bares its fangs
Defying my probes
Defending its ground

I play the pipe of memories
And it bows its head
In graceful accession
I reach out to grasp it-
A rope that rises
Towards the skies

Calloused palms
Numb fingers
Climbing steadily
Towards oblivion

A sudden jerk
And the rope falls.
I plunge,
Back to the present

Warm blood seeps out
Colours the suture with life
Opens the crevice

I drown in the pain,
I clutch at a string,
The suture that knits
Together the banks
Of my river of dreams

A tug at the two ends,
A healing that begins
But leaves behind
An itch.

I finger the suture
That knits my wound…