Red Right Ankle

"This is the story of your red right ankle,
And how it came to meet your leg,
And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled,
And how the skin was softly shed.

And how it whispered,
'Oh, adhere to me!',
For we are bound by symmetry.
And whatever differences our lives have been,

We together make a limb."


And I have begun to love you as myself,

to give consideration jealously reserved.

And to wonder what witchcraft

has brought you past the briars and walls,

and disposed my armaments.

All my life I have mistaken,

these inward lies for honesty.

But the real truth flushes pink

with shame and uncertainty,

leaves me naked and seeking mercy.

Yours is the courage, lent to me,

that brings me back to this place again,

trembling, and resolved.

Vulnerability is the price we pay,

and the gift we receive,

and is precious as each.

Ours is a story

of broken toys in love.

Playing, mending, creaking.
I could not do this with someone else.

"Some had crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
Some had crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart."

Sometimes when I feel loved by you,

it is beautiful and unbearable all at once.

I slip away to cry tears of joy

splashed with agony,

or the other way.

It is recognition that I cannot bear for this to end

and that we are mortal, still.

It is knowing I am not worthy of you loving me,

and seeing you continue, undeterred.

It's feeling grateful and small,

or nourished,

or infinite.

It's the ultimate trust-fall,

and I believe in you.

I decided,

on a day that was yesterday and a lifetime ago,

that I would never be this vulnerable again.
But you've disarmed that lie, too.

I love you more than I was supposed to.

Points of no return are defined

by anxiety on one side

and liberation on the other.

Let us journey, then, you and I.
You are irreplaceable in my heart.