In this way you remind me of a dog fight:
Snarling or
shattering my ribs with silence.

Let me drown your panic at the tip of my lips,
I’m insisting this.

People waiting in line for your shotgun shell
and then you got to me like
****, I could get used to those thighs.

I want to fall into your stomach and have a party until you get a hangover from kissing me that way.

I started memorizing your scars and, baby, they make you prom night beautiful.

Twirl for me.

Please slow down.
I'm worried about them.

I see your babies
and I know they'd like you to watch
even though they don't say it.

In the end they'll be okay
but I saw that wreck
the truck
the glass.

I heard it.

Mother's never scream so hard as when blue police officers pry open a car and she's the only one in it
who can scream.

Yes,
I'm the one who gave the sign
that went unseen,
my only job.

If I could only be yellow forever.

And all the others, they stare,
wondering if I'll be taken down because of it.

But I'm not broken,
not yet.

You were still burning when I met you
and nobody blamed me
because I fell in love with a void.

They called you
The Black Hole of Calcutta
because of all the casualties that were mine
on accident.

They thought we were like the fallen street lamps on the interstate
who fell fighting
so everyone was looking at us saying
"maybe it would be better if you leave each other alone."
But you are my heart

I think about you like you were a dog.
The kind that droop, just made out of skin
(the sad kind).

I always wondered if the dogs would start crying in a ball on their bed, wrapped in blankets with their makeup running, trying to be quiet
(so their moms couldn't hear)
if I didn't call them.

But I know that dogs
(no matter how ****** you are to them)
always come back.
Like whatever you did wasn't that bad.

Like it was their fault.

Standing in line waiting to see your aunt
who looks like your grandma
because the last time you saw your grandma she was in a box
like your aunt's.

But the box isn't really your aunt's.

It belongs to everyone in the room.

Yes

Even you.