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Did the stroke of love penetrate your breast

As deep as it did mine?

Or was the cross that broke my back

Deflect it to spare me?

And here I am: fallen, broken, hit and bleeding

From the sweetest wound that ever was

My love for you, distant memory of mine.

All that remained of you

Is right here between the edges

Of my ceaseless slash

Round like the serpent, sharp like the blade

Punctuating my language like a commanding officer

Marshalling every thought, every breath,

Every word, and every poem.

Who is to stop this bleeding?

Or am I to open a world blood bank

Of charity from this lesion

That just won’t heal, won’t heal…

Are you bleeding just the same?

St. Paul’s shame and ailment are ours

For the word is the blood of Christ

Sweet love of mine, my saviour,

In your absence the Son grows mighty gentle,

His soft blessing on the lips of my life

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