Restoration

He kneels in front of my naked body,

puts his ear to my skin-taut, huge stomach,

swollen like an overfilled balloon.

He traces the dark line

with his tongue  

from extruded navel

down to dark curls,

to a place, where,

A few days later

he sees a slimy 

blood-covered head emerge.

The next time someone 

touches me there,

a vain attempt at restoration,

it is with needle and thread

to pierce and bind

torn swags of flesh.

The sensation is small

in comparison.