Travelled

If I told you, “why of course,”
there is a gnawing ache.
Would your ear be so attuned
to find it? For I cannot tell
the cause, or where it
comes from, or where it starts
and doesn’t stop.

“Does it hurt here?” you ask,
but you must, leave your hand
on me “long enough,” to feel
the process. Because the cells
of the body are constantly changing,
“long enough,” to know, to find,
“the beginning.”

Because I am in here somewhere,
and along the way
I know by touch you haven’t forgot,
all the paths in me your hands
have travelled.

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