A Draw?

Lusting for attention;
here’s my heart for you
to poke and observe
with each of its broken
lines and scarred rungs
that make ladders we
can climb together.

Uncaged and unhinged
in a listing, lilting
metaphor. I haunt the
stacks and the echoes
of woodland that act
as ballast to all I’ve
thought and watered.

Can we call it a draw?
I’ll recede to the walls
and crouch into the
margins, and you can
leave me unbound:
lighted to these winds
I have misunderstood.