The Blues Came Banging on my Door

Half way through,
Your fingers reached for my skirt

The tip of your fingertips
Pushed it up

I shrank back a bit
In anticipation

You reached my knee
Our eyes rested

I looked whole
In my paleness, you said

We both knew
What you were getting at

“Does it still hurt?”
Your fingers circled the erstwhile wound

A nod, and two tear drops
That’s all there is left

Like famine, it spread
And now, all of me
Feels like the erstwhile wound.