When on a beloved face you catch a glimpse of the sign Comments

When on a beloved face you catch a glimpse of the sign
of too many seasons and a vein, much too dark,
stretches out into the room, when the cuts
of life well up, a host of them, and the blood slows
inside the wrists that we've held tight until dawn,
it's not only there that the swelling current
stops, then it is night, it is night on every face
we have loved.
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