you are stoic,
refusing my proffered ice pack and
insisting on walking to the car
on your shattered knee -
stupid man, the kind
that will never admit
how bad it is, even if
it's really awful
so i fuck you instead,
hoping it will make you
more pliable, so that
you might make faces at
my tea,
but drink it anyway
you hobble from bed to couch,
my eye wary on your balance
which is drugged,
and a little bit off - thinking,
i might
love this man, but
i'll never say it -
especially when your pride
is bruised
more than your face,
but i might -
startling as the realization is
so i smooth the stiff stitching
over your brow,
kiss the side of your mouth
that can still smile
and i watch you stand,
awkward and slow, dragging
your leg behind you
we stand, supported by crutches,
and we hold, we just
hang on tightly
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