Love’s sleeve’s wet and torn,
strands of cotton stray and catch
on barbs, blooded scratches may not match cuffs;
collar tight as tie too drawn;
ink-stained fingers toughened red, rip
salted organ parts; that stomach-heart
switching of places; the muted ache.
About this, no bliss will counter-balance,
not prior, now or then; Zen’s sutures
will dismiss the wet and torn
and the collar drawn to tight;
exsanguinate in cold bathtub light,
sew stitches with antiseptic needles
and tattooist ink, replace the places switched.