As we made love, our scars met,
grazing long enough for mine to say
‘He tries to hide me,’
and for yours to reply
‘I know I embarrass her.’
'He never learned how to swim,' whispered my scar.
‘She got picked last in gym class,
then cried into her pillow,’ replied yours.
Just then, a huge wound opened in me.
You touched it. It closed.
I was filled, fully healed, and I knew
I would never be able not to love you.
- Intercourse, Tom C. Hunley