Lines Left on The Cutting Room Floor - March 9, 2019

Stalk the need that begs you to return:
the flower blooming on her skin, the course
your finger plotted upward through the source
of what her smile masks. You need to learn

to bear the weight she’s given you to carry,
to season your slow voice and love the burn.
Or, walk away. No matter which you choose,
the blood that flows will be your own.