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

of both;

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

of body,

as One.


Photo Credit: Untitled blue via Compfight cc

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