"When Us Gets Bad"
Hidden under your bed, black-winged, armed with bow and arrow dipped in something darker than the marzipan-pink-picture-perfect-happily-ever-after arsenic- He laughs at our fantasies and fabrications. He smells of valentines flowers in march, eyes hidden behind green-fly-tinted-glasses, hands covered in divorce-paper-cuts that do not falter as he Aims Shoots Strikes true- And gets away with murder. My lover's caress burns my skin so a cry of pain replaces a moan of pleasure is lost and gives way to the black bile that fills the space between us which grows mile by mile by minute by minute until we are tiny distant dots either side of the King-Size that Cupid retreats under. He hides there, behind smiles and confetti and February 14th forgetfulness, relying on our inability to remember the lodging of that little black arrow head. and fearing October 31st's caution- The one day of the year That we may look under our Beds.