I am bound by the shackles
of rationale and reason.
They wear at my ankles
and wrists.
I pick at the itching scabs.
I know you had the key once,
but you lost it
in a struggle against
your own heart.
Now, you’re sprinting towards me
at full speed,
lock pick in hand.
Face red, you fumble it
with your hands,
like a child’s.
You’re half-sobbing,
half-chuckling
and biting my ear.
The shackles come off.
Then, I lose myself in you
and never find my way out.