I’ve never broken a bone and often wonder what the sensation would feel like
Would it be as forgiving as the stop sign hidden behind the low hanging oak tree limbs
Or radiate a lingering pain that mirrored silent betrayals
Maybe it would come on slowly like fevered kissing before the sun breaks over the valley of the home I pretend not to know
it would be uncomfortable
But not more so than bare feet on clamshell dams
Certainly not more than knowing better
And choosing to anyway.
