five things (not to think about when you’re high)
1. or when it’s 4 a.m. and you’re spitting backwards
liturgies into violin string heartache. when you’re hung
out to dry naked in front of him and all he says is
are you coming to the wedding on friday?
and of course your response is either going to be an overdone burnt up apology or
2. i died for you. don’t let me waltz ghostlike
to my own music if you’re going to abduct
your hand from my waist and leave me floating lethargic
just offshore. teaching someone to dance
is harder, you know, if you’ve already had to stitch up your heart twice this afternoon
3. alone. he’s holding you shamefully close but he doesn’t know
about these seamstress acts of violence, all needle and no thread—
doesn’t see the stitches coming undone as he dips you
4. headfirst in the pool, all rinsed sinuses and chlorine caressing
parts of you he never will. but anyways this is all just a thought experiment
that you really didn’t want to conduct, and of course when you snap
back to reality he’s blinking at you with cloud-covered
eyes still waiting expectantly for the answer to that
5. knife of a question. it’s okay, sweetheart. go ahead, drive
into the deer. i promise its guts
won’t splatter all over you and stain your heart
and all your clothes, your favorite coat. it’s
okay. he’s not the deer, i promise. go ahead.
