She gets her alcohol
and gulps it in,
as if
that’s how you teach
a wound to heal.

With you standing at the edge of the cliff,
leaning over as if you'd fall
is how I have absolutely everything
at risk.

Her heart is a cotton ball
made of steal around the edges
- roughly molded to go against
and beneath the stormy waves
but tenderly so,
to stay out on the rain
catching pours
that were meant
to soak others.

And if in the end
he happens
to break your heart
thank him
for giving you
something
to write about.

Don’t you ever make claims that you’ve moved on,
when the scribbles on your notebook will prove otherwise.
Don’t you ever assume that you have forgotten,
when a phone number you should have gotten rid of,
will prove you ridiculous.

“When will you know if you like a person?” I asked him.
“Well, when you're constantly thinking about that person- that you may even forget about important things when you’re with him.”
“Like what important things?” I asked again.
“Like your cooking, now burning in the kitchen.” He pointed at the kitchen, infused with smoke.

If you want me
to do the dishes,
you need to leave
your heart
beside the sink.