My face contorts, twisting muscle, pulling skin – tears again
A familiar posture –
then muscle memory.
Maybe bending my brows and pursing my cheeks will alter reality
Or perhaps offer salve.
They travel- tear to eyes- face to heart and back again.
I know. Brief, I’m certain.
As if old tears left scar tissue
And memory irritated reality enough to make these surging thoughts bleed.
It’s temporary, but a moment,
A moment that pierces away my breath, mangles my face.
Now watch the blotches cool.