And if it were for time to throw all into the mend, i'd unfurl as a bloom sown too deep in an old oak:

the trepidation that runs about the soft curves of my flesh is old// older than the mouth that lapped me in hunger for the unbeknownst// seeking the soft with teeth still stained in milk// my father taught me in distant ways that mouth was the ill of all// ever uncut// unbled// a bodiless existence// but the details over my body were too disproportionate to soak sustenance from places birthed in distance// too jagged, too loud, too fabled// there was a two toothed gap in between me and the entirety of the withstand// we were face to face// i could see the existing proof pulsing and herculean// thick with muscles veined like fury// i reached out, my seams collapsed// our lips almost touching at a point// so narrow it slipped// my memory bears no fault// but it buckled// disowned like a wet cloth// all spilled// i and it// were not meant to be// my muscles never hardened// bones never grew// no extra pair of limbs crawled towards to me to make it through// no time-bound mercy came to suture what time had split// no wounds healed// i still am every i ever was// in a new skin// that didn't grow on its own// with time.