Blood

There is thickness and texture to cold blood,

Unlike any other,

And even the stains it leaves,

Have a smell that lingers,

Long past the washing.

As though it is part made of memory,

Of the act that spilled it,

Violent, not rough or cruel,

Just violent.

The severing of one thing made three:

two parts flesh, solid,

and one part liquid, spilled.

©️Emma Steel