Even when she wears
Long sleeves,
Even when she's happy,
When her thin, red lips split
Into a smile on her white face
I'm reminded of
The deep red spilling
From the perfectly clean and
Straight cuts on her thin white wrists.
Now I choose my words carefully
My lips are usually sealed
As tight as the scars on her thin
White wrists. After all,
It was my razor sharp words
That put them there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A tight little scene of domestic detente. -c