The Shape of a Wound

I’m almost certain it’s there, somewhere
But it has shape-shifted, like a dune within
The barren wound bleeds –
memories when I gently press the surface of their skin
The wound is a shape of a good bye
An empty forced kiss that promised nothing
Gave nothing, as retribution
Or like the silence between abandonment and the first chaos after your return
An unfathomable well where all pain flows at night
The wound oscillates between fear and agony
Choosing the least painful of the two – and burns nevertheless
Or bursts like an uneasy time bomb inside the chest
Turning the pulse into a flame that spreads like forest fire
Engulfing the throat with evenings that turned darker than nights
The wound is a shape of a door you carved for early exits
Or an ex-lover’s poem found in a book
Quickening the heart beat while fear dripped in
An ink drop at a time
The wound smiles looking at the simplicity of its cure.
But Cure –
It has a different story to tell.