Your Pain

The hurt I feel

is Your hurt,

a tiny microcosm,

a “pup cup” if you will

That I can lap up

and eat within

seconds when Your

table is set

with eons of pain,

wound and set forth

within our organic

bodies,

our shameful minds,

our dirty hearts.

And what a love,

a love like that –

enduring all

the things I

think I know

but never will.