There were times when you
begged
me to tell,
let you unravel the cord wrapped
so tightly wound around
lies, secrets, ghosted and deadened emotions.

You weren't surprised when
the cobwebs latched in my throat,
eight legged creatures in the bend of my spine
scattered.

You didn't turn around
from the ghastly sight,
nor shield your eyes.

You grabbed a broom,
grabbed a shoe.
Gathered away the webs,
swept in a pile.
Murdered the creatures,
washed the evidence,
cleaned smooth.

You grabbed a chair,
no, grabbed two.
One for me, another for
my feet.

You insisted
so incessantly.
I agreed.

You unraveled the thread,
started at my head.
Through my frontal lobe,
straightened my two crooked front teeth,
loosened my spinal cord,
kissed my scarred thighs,
lingered on my faded striped forearm,
held me close.

You gained the keys
to each and every lock.
Heard every story,
kissed every scar.

It was a sad day
when you threw the keys.
Into the black river,
threw it all away,
and instead caught her.