If ever love spills on the floor,
Its maroon stain leaking out across
The space intended to be kept clean,
Get a mop and smear it up, and wring
It across all of our veins.
And we will pray, we don't know how,
But still we bow, our heads lain prone
In compromise with some shared spring.
The love our skins absorb, it stains me
Like tattoo ink. It blotches me
And I am ugly and unique, and sick
And well, among so many alike,
We form an exhibit, come and see. I quote
From what inspires me, while leerers
Pause to take. Solemnly they exit me
Immaculately. I give the stains across
Closed space, a fission just like everything.
We tidy up, approach, recede. We circle
Understanding. The blotches stay, and may
We bless that they cannot be blotted.
