i hope you can't see me counting exit signs; practicing excuses
it's funny how mouths & hands already know the motions
my mind must've been here before

I. we are both stuck in traffic going opposite directions. headlights blink angry. it's not love i'm blinded by.
II. 1 am is time for milkshakes & philosphical discussions, not sleep.
    
my mom always said my navigation was a bit off but recently i discovered it is only my driving
it's funny how mouths & hands already know the motions
before your heart is aligned

III. it's not you, it's me.

you came & left at a speed that could have won the Indy 500
your wheels spinning so fast it left me dizzy
the rhythm of your engine urging me to keep up
i never quite could                                  
we kept our words guarded but our bodies vulnerable                                  
every inhale & exhale of  breath    
every touch
was a conversation we were too afraid to have                                              
our bodies built walls
they still remain        
i know                                                      
it has been 9 months since we last kissed                                                       
 bu­t i understand you now more than ever                                                          
yo­ur wheels were made to keep turning
burning rubber like you burn bridges
......

you love him
you love his smooth hands and his rough cheek
you love your hands in his denim shirt
and the cinematography of you together
everything else is an afterthought

the knife in his eyes that is not always pointed at you
but when it is
you kiss the fist that rattles plates
the lips that wrap around clenched teeth
melt him

fail to understand his poison tipped arrows
that are aimed at the mother who threw bottles
if he could only pick one more fight it'd be with his father
you kiss him when he knocks his brother's teeth out

he leaves in the morning for coffee and comes back a day later
welcome him with open arms and abundant questions
he will be a tower of irritation and concrete
he will point fingers that will curl into fists
but they are not fists for you
they are for the devils that dance within him
and behind his wild eyes
and in his childhood home

you will not be fooled
he loves you
you know by every sweetheart and the lips on your forehead and the way he smells in between the sheets each night

he leaves
he comes back
purple flowers that bloom around his eyes are the bouquets he brings home for you
the front porch sags when he puts his hands in his pockets
his face buried in your chest
on nights when the lamp swings a little too low
and his body is wracked with sobbing and shoulders shaking

he mourns the gentle temper he never had
he mourns what he would be like without you
he mourns what you would be like without him
this is how he loves you

your hands in his hair easing soothing shh shh
you are the mother who left
you are better than every last ex-girlfriend
for reasons he will be happy to name
this is how you love him

you came because you are drawn to the shipwrecks
but you stayed in the water for him
ancient child
furious soul
you salt his wounds
and then you clean them
this is how you love him

I have been busy scraping the last bits and pieces of you from the edges my heart
and from the cracks in the side walk or our old favorite restaurants
but
it didnt take me long to realize
working hands cannot keep a wandering mind, distracted