shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Robert L. Dean, Jr.

Page 1 | 2 | 3

The Scar

I feel them on the inside
of your mouth, run my tongue
over the tattooed history of you.

Nightmares, you say. I want to
cast them out but you refuse
to believe I am your Christ

and there are no swine passing
by and, indeed, I have no gash
in my side for your doubts to probe.

I turn my head to tell you tonight
you'll be with me in paradise. You
suck in your cheeks and bite down,

eyes wide. I rebuke the storm and still
you quake. Water into wine, nothing.
My last miracle. Your next scar.