Ceremony

Awake with eyes still closed

The feel of blood trickling from forehead

Knowing the touch of life and it’s feel against skin.

 

A red line running down past an eye and over a cheek

The track run by a lovers finger

A touch to sweet.

 

Thirst reaches out past plate, knife and fork to glass

It’s place not seen but felt filling the space before

Glass is to heavy to move, placed to perfect to leave.

 

Ticking from the plate is a worry

A finger before the hand ceases it’s cry

Edge so sharp and skin so weak.

 

Burst red from finger to hand

A feeling well known

Plate ticks but worry is forgotten.