Decade (Or Ten Years More of Knowing)

The thin skin of your passion
is at times impenetrable.
The pricks and prods become
me and are now my fashion.

And in the closet of your thoughts
bruises and burns leave you wild and spent.
I sit and wait for you to see
what your being for me has wrought.

You think apart and deconstruct your “us”
while I live and breathe it quietly, out loud.
If you think “us” away then all will be well,
save the shredded souls running with puss.

What then when I know what you do (will) not?
That the links that bind us will tighten and cut.
That the taste and scent will sharpen and beckon.
That all this time you have needed what you have fought.

T.S.Snowden (March 2008)