You don’t love me
It’s the blood you love.
You handle me with clinical
precision,
but my arm you engage
tenderly.
I can’t even feel the needle
go in.
You watch the blood
fill the vials softly.
One after the other.
It’s the blood you love.
You handle me with clinical
precision,
but my arm you engage
tenderly.
I can’t even feel the needle
go in.
You watch the blood
fill the vials softly.
One after the other.