Dad’s blood vessels
wrap around my ankles.
His numbing sclerosis infects my toes.
Mom and Dad sing I alone love you
in an octave with the front-man
on stage.

They cry together,
subdued through flickered smiles,
and I understand what it is
to be devoted in
the way a fire fights to
cling with candlewick.

I can feel it coming back again,
he whispers near her ear lobe.
The arches of his feet tingle
as mom’s veins tangle with dad’s,
his spine reignited by the warmth
of their flame.