Relationship of the Broken Hearted

in sterile Blue, we licked our cuts,
a soothing hand distant
in our recovery beds

I required a crutch,
you, a new leg—
we were both wounded,
and pining to sashay the stage again

too proud... too gutless
to consider self-therapy,
together, we dashed for automatic doors

held on my shoulder, you took my side—
we hobbled along,just struggling not to fall
but the hard ground was waiting
to trip up, rush up, and collide with our getaway