see how softly he whimpers now
as the needle that fills him
with kisses, weeps
a concoction of sincerity
cut with compromise
tarnished silver
teaspoon of grief
erasing every meaning
whispering in droplets of sweat
beads of liquid braille
over his unlined forehead
the cost of conception’s
brutal ache and
surrender
sharp fingertips dug
into his punctured body
on a sweat soaked mattress
he lies on
dreamless
curled in fetal sleep.
***
BY NEAL BROSNAN
BITTER POEMS: conception of surrender
Sad. Well done.