Scar Tissue
by Misty Rampart

What fun it was fucking that summer.

But love, a hateful word, just got in the way.

It got in the way of what was happening:

a peach ripening, a wall being torn down.

Windows, defiant, that looked out at the

world and said catch us if you can.

But all it amounted to was lots of rain and tired

songs, legal bills and a criminal record.

A presumed son – dead before birth.

And finally, years upon years led it

to where it should have stayed:

many a night reminiscing in the dark,

my soul on watch atop my old castle walls while

my fingers flailed mercilessly at this rubber band

between my legs. Gushing to you, imagining you

as the last one in my bukkake line.

We tried to breathe  life into that old round hole,

and you were that square peg I always wanted,

that one that left me breathless and bruised

always wanting more, never getting enough.
About Misty Rampart:
Misty Rampart is a child of the 60’s and new to the business of writing for
publication. She seeks to explore her past to bring it into her present context. Email
her at
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