if my hands tremble
as fingertips brush the ragged scarlet edges
of torn flesh
think only that it
is the scent of fresh
that dizzies me

mark it as my feminine nature’s
natural revulsion
to seeing you so intimately
seeing the you
that which skin should have
kept secret

think me frail
carefully insulated
from wounds
the terror and honor
of battle

think any of this
I pray
knowing my hands tremble
from deeper wounds
honorably won
as I battle myself
and win

and lose



  1. Henrik Paulsen said,

    July 16, 2010 at 9:21 am

    My dear woman — I cannot hope to understand what dangers you might have passed, what horrors you might have seen — but do believe that you have my utmost respect.

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