Un.

For if I ever unwounded myself
                    the process might have been rather painful;
Yet,
If I
If I     could
trust   you
And
if        You
could  trust
me
.
.
.
in a jungle of dissected words
and meanings
.
If I could trust you and you could trust me
then perhaps one night
I would unstitch the stitches and show you the raw flesh and
perhaps then that night
a tiny worm of fear would climb up onto the cotton ball
that I would allow
allow you
to
to keep under the skin for a moment.

And then I would restitch the stitches until the next moment when
you could trust me and I could
un-trust my
insecurities
.
The process always remains unfinished
untill
one night
You
stitch
my words
into the forearm of your left hand.