and his ribs are a birdcage,
encasing his heart
which merely trembled at the thought
of freedom.

i fed him camomile tea from a small silver spoon,
felt his pulse quicken
beneath mine.
a silhouette storm blew in with winter wind,
erasing all sense of
limits and lines.

there were none to be crossed, so we
entered the threshold of
something we were never prepared for.

and his heart was a bird,
scared still and alone and
the only thing i ever cared for.