He Who Wanders

Ragged, white scars carve
Swollen streams in my skin,
Where once your fingers strayed.
Tender were your kisses. Tender
Now the skin they painted. And below
A growing void
That roils like summer storms,
Tossing me in throes of sickness
And sorrow. They say

Scars fade, and sickness
Passes. No pain
Is ever permanent. The void
Fills, and the storm settles.
All memories dim and darken.
They’re wrong

I hope, and these sickly bands
Will stain my flesh
Until my mind withers
And crumbles. Because memory
Is fleeting,
Happy or sad,
And I refuse to let you leave.
Even as your heart
Passes on, even when I
Am forgotten, you’ll stay. Stay
Until the end
With all your pain
And all your pleasure.