Rumblings at a lunar eclipse

A whisker to the face,
Insistent, sanguine.

Smiles have the hint of blood,
Ruddiness, humor.

Blood is the mystified
Miracle of birth,

And the everyday fact
Of execution.

 

We’re so afeared
We flay our flesh
To bring skin back.

3000 years of paranoia
about menstruation
is enough.

Blood,
is only what we are,
Sanguine.

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