that's just how it works

It hurts, and you get away with it
and my heart will keep breaking for you
in the night
in the morning
over and over again

and I'll smell a phantom smell of the balm of your breath
on my very own
my tragedy, I suppose

and I'll miss it

I will miss the evil that I laid down to sleep with,
the impenitent sinner that I
never went too long without locking hands with;
the behemothing horror in the strength of his

not the blameless kind of might,
not for honor, not for virtue;
the kind of strength you can only misuse

and even so, I'll thread through those buried-in-weight benches,
through cold jurers, kooks, and voles

let my little voice sound from the stand in the tribunal -
- and I'm not sure what will happen, but
when it does, I'm sure you'll know

that's just how it works

It hurts, and you get away with it

and they seem to want to watch me
while I watch you do it all

all of the things you'll say - no words to me,
just a momentary gaze my way

so the imagination can run wild
and take a good clawed hold of me for the next month and a mile

and my heart will keep breaking, and
because I'll want to get closer,
I'll dovetail my hands

and I'll bleed all my noise
right there on the stand
and it will show in my voice
that I'm blind to the dance
a mote in the sun; a thing in the sand

I still hope that they'll see you

as clawed as you are,
the odd provocant you are,
stimulated by commotion

but the resistless tendency
is as good as a gun

the pause

the balm of your breath
the ghost of a second where I cry,
cornered,
and you lunge

so I'll see a phantom smile
in the way you snarl at me

and my heart will keep breaking for you
in the night
in the morning
over and over again

that's just how it works
and you get away with it

don't you?

will you get away with it, again?

threading,
like through the seats
of that little white chapel

those buried-in-weight benches
of cold jurers,
kooks,
and voles

I'm not sure what will happen, but
when it does, I'm sure you'll know