Swinging from the rafters,
you slammed my finger in the door again,
and I stubbed your toe
this same time last year.
We should know enough
not to dance in the rain the way
Young Lovers do…
for we are old, with screaming joints
whenever a storm rolls in.
Pulling on covers and skin,
desperate to gain the Lion’s share
to own, and be owned.
Possessed by the embrace
of one who knows what is the sense…
Of a finger slammed in the door,
or a heart tearing from its chest;
or the breath sucked from a lung.
This…the labor of love,
which lies beneath the skin