Cutter, my Love!

You slashed my life with yours some time ago.
I hoped it would be swift and cutting, sudden
like a curlew’s cry, a ghost’s cry, but it wasn’t.

It was slow, painful and full of agony
And I cannot forget the blood-stained tears
That you could never wash out from the sheets of the time
We spent together, lying full-naked in our youth.

When can I see you again, my neurotic Aphrodite?
“Never!” was the expected answer, once accepted.

But now in dreams I hear you call me back
to another truth of things unsaid, uncluttered
by the curses of being young, too young
to understand the lines of blood that spattered
too liberally on our sheets.

Where are you now? Who cares?
But when you call, wherever, when,
I’m still here.