Where My Love Finds Denial

Tracing the gentle curves of your breasts
and running my fingertip across your belly
in the teasing tickle of love making,
my finger pauses at the tip of a long scar
stretching from below your sternum
to the coarse thatch of pubic hair.

We are beings of light.
The strength of our souls emanates
in fine tendrills of luminescence
from our navels.

Your scar, cold and white,
belies the black strand of despair
that eclipses the glow of your being.
It is here my finger pauses
touching the source of darkness
I have sensed in you.
It is here where my love
finds denial.

This is a true poem or should I say a poem of truth, perhaps. It happened. There was a scar. We are beings of light. All of this. And because of these things, these true things within the poem, I have had many tell me the poem spoke to them in some manner about a failed relationship. There is something deeper here, I think, than love denied. You decide.