pain

At the centre of my being,
Like curling wisps of smoke
Or rose-green tendrils too delicate to touch,
They reach out;
Seeking,
Finding.
Clinging lovingly.
And in vain do I shut all these doors on them.
Pouring in through gaps and crevices
They shall melt all that stands in between
And slowly rase all barriers.
Spread to caress me, devour me, consume me.
And this knot at the centre of my being
Shall be all that bears witness to the end.