Shoulder Blade

I have an ache in my right shoulder blade that gets worse in
the winter. I went to my doctor, he told me there is something missing, a bone slightly out of place, pushing against the skin.

I lay on the couch, reading Tolkien under the lamp, when a little moth
came fluttering to my light, whispered a warning, and then you walked
in.
You sat down by my side, and asked me sweetly if you could borrow my
book. I refused, coyly,shyly, weakly, knowing sooner or later I would
relent, but wanting to prolong this moment with you by my side.
You pleaded, you pouted, you begged and you shouted, and finally

Five minutes ago I had walked into the garden to find you
standing under the moonlight.
You were practising Tai Chi, curling your hands into an invisible
bowl, holding it out in front of you, I couldn't resist slipping into the
space of your hands, breaking your spell,
and closing your arms around me. You let me. I was your friend.

I let you. You were my friend.
You took the book out of my hands, earmarked my page for me, and then
you leant down and kissed my left shoulder blade, where wings are meant
to be. And when lips touched me, something pushed against my skin ,
longing to open , longing to grow.

It aches more than ever in the winter. I walk slightly off balance,
as if one side of me is lifted, and the other is waiting to be free.
But one wing is not enough to fly, just as one heart is not enough to love.

You walked back out into the garden, I watched from under the light,
and I can honestly trace it all back to that very moment, and blame
this ache,

all this on you.