Pop

My fresh wet blood is beautiful
Vibrant red against the paleness of my pink skin
I usually only see it dry
With a yellow tint when spread thin
Nearly black when hardened into a scab

And yet, tonight it contains no other colors
I’ve never seen a purer red
I would buy lipstick this color
The qualities of this fluid fascinate me
How it dries, spreads, dots, congeals, and sticks

What fluid is like blood?
Its chemical and physical properties
Are new to me tonight
Can I bring myself to wash it off?
This liquid of life from within

Another miracle: my skin
Healing so quickly after a rupture
Does the blood or the skin get the credit?
For sealing this wound so smoothly
And keeping the trains on schedule

The paradox of that spot
Firm, rounded and smooth
Surrounded by soft, peeling flesh
Hidden in a crevice
And demanding recognition

I have purged you of your venom
Hoping I exorcised the last vestige
And I wish you God’s own speed
In recovering from that painful release
And finding peaceful freedom