the bliss to feel because it hurts

runs in rivers or short spurts

like water from a sadist spout

where angerhatredguiltselfdoubt

and loneliness.

come tumbling out

and having drawn the bath and stewed

to dare to speak in solitude

and handle human heartstrings nude

the heart demanding to undress

is tender to its selfishness

a deep release a need no less

than drumming passion in the hips

or quieting the quivering lips—

crying through the fingertips.