thief of scars

He slips in
as if usual, and takes
the hardest lessons ever -
that you forced yourself somehow
to learn - so easily

away, you don't even
feel the tug, the pull,
the rip, the cord
of shining skin

that marked the spot
you swore you'd never
let yourself be hurt
that way

again. And oh,
you won't. Not him.
It's gone. The beautiful
ugly slick, the knot
that bound you back
together again, keeping
warm blood safe
and in,

has vanished

irreplaceably. Your own
unmarked and human
flesh is back,

cosmetically
or something deeper
repaired.
He's unwound your
wounds, as if

he cared. As if
you know. Old lessons
can't apply

to what he'll do
with all the lack

of wisdom
that
he's made

anew
in
you.