give-ness {of self}

what i thought to be spite,
rancor glossed over features,
face varnished in my sweater

was really
pinicle forgiveness;

absorbing my offense with marrow;

owning pain his own to bone and bade-ing  sadness,
bade-ing truth fill  and come in truth of hurt,
in truth of brokness
                             and broken love.

in moment of spite,
no, everything not all right
not quite
ready to give respite of fight
till in sight is his own

heart
own self
              peeled back as skin from muscle,
               nerves vulnerable to slightest touch
           till tough varnish covers all and speaks to me,

"I Don't Like it When you hurt me.