A Kiss for Abortive Wings

I feel bad about not updating my travel blog recently. I've been typing out things on my USB drive but can't find an internet cafe that allows USB connections. Gah! So, just so you don't all forget about me and because I miss blogging a lot, here's a poem I've been working on.

When we first meet
I see the seams across your back
and wonder whose needle put them there.
In time, I notice you stitch them yourself.
Your needful contortions sucher
gaps between muscle and soul.

I dare not ask about the wounds
for I fear finding them
self-inflicted or inflicting me.
Your eyes are glad for my silence
so I dumbly watch your soundless cries
as we move through the forgiving dark.

But when I bring my hand close
to weigh your burden in my palm,
your wince stings
and cloaks again well-nursed scars.
You ask me to embrace you
but forbid our atoms to touch.

Perhaps if I had light or voice,
you might be able to see. Look:
I don't want you to be happy, only whole.
Stop forcing scabs to bleed hot
and allow the flaws in your clay
to beautifully complete imperfection.

When we last meet,
I see the seams across your back
and learn our wants are not the same.
Still, I lean in to press your lips
and run my hand across
the scars of your abortive wings.