Stray stones.

I’ve loved you a thousand times over

Only to feel what love is like

raw, 

worn against the gravel,

my hands plucking stray

stones from your skin

as you struggle to

turn over and writhe

against the ground.

Drink it up,

what tastes like

defeat on my tongue

and stinging in my hands

until He reminds me

it’s not my hands,

my words that are doing

the mending.

He is.