The Heart of Europe: On Seeing "Munich"

The touch of love
bounces from my skin
like a bullet
richochets off steel,
intended to be tender
but hard and brittle as bone.
It is a human touch after all
subject to the limitations of grease
and water.

The ointment of love
doesn't penetrate,
doesn't reach the tightened screws.
Imbedded deep,
some visions just grate
when turned and never loosen.