Calluses

If love be calluses then
let it be, those so familiar
bits are clearly there as
scenery which grows of
constant use suffused in
empathetic tenderness

the calluses are me as
much familiar as a pair
of shoes well worn – a
tender pressure borne
with jaunty air, a song
from resonating strings

and where you stand be
warned in wont we share
through fate; these welted
points define our love in
illustrative terms that 
spurn a soft debate
© 19 January 2009, I. D. Carswell