Of the inanimate
An indication of
How much a body can take
Entry points marked
Where things impinge
Puckered and pink
Some cuts don't heal
Even with time
That fine white line
Following the body
Into old age
Time's brand upon the skin
We are all prisoners
Of the flesh
History marked upon us
Like runes to be read
By future historians
Cold cases for the
Next century
Only there is a tale
To be told now
Intimate and integral
Glyphs of life events
Your finger tracing
That ridge left
By my brother's
Enthusiastic swordplay
That circular brand
Rendered by chicken pox
My circumcised penis
Plate fixed left ankle
And that gash in my heart
Invisible to others
Where you laid
The salve of your love
And carefully hid its mark
© shaun patrick green 2013
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