Hearts meet and part. Worn by the constant flow,
waves friction, weakness shows up in the grain
each bruise, each contact, momentary pain,
lasting depressions that will slowly grow
and tiny irritations lodge within
and rub against each other in their turn.
Tides rise and fall, ebb peak. A chinese burn
twisting and turning, slowly leaving skin
stinging with pleasure-pain. At last a hole
so neatly circular as if a drill
had made it. And the hurt will never kill
but leave its mark forever in my soul
You thread me where you hurt me, and will wear
my heart and others round neck, in your hair.