Tender Sore

An incantation: such a spell. We died in our brief encounter;
And never shall we love. Thus the hurt, a touch of futility,
And still, a heart is churning. Electrify life: wake a dream;
But such is pain, a passion death. What was love—a maze of
Spikes; and what was lust, a cloud of birds. My deepest
Wound, we cry a riddle; and depth the soul, the fruit of flame.
And such the color, a mother’s shrill; and such the life, a
Father’s tears. Thus the hurt, a warning grave; and thus the
Heart, a doting crane. Indeed a prayer, a texture raw; and art
To God, a woman’s pride. And something dies—a weft of
Love; and something lives, a bleeding flame. In truth, the soul,
A tremor soft; and cryptic touch, a fractured thought. But
Mystic grief kills the vibe; and thus, the love, an elfin myth;
And hence, the pain, a tender sore.