the bomb between your teeth's got
the word forever etched into it
and you tell me how autumn is
a year's final warm breath before
it is buried under six feet of cold.
your finger trembles on the trigger
and you're singing me songs
about how goodbyes never mean goodbye,
but the look in your eyes
when the bottles empty
tells another story. and long ago,
my momma tried to teach
me how to leave the world behind
without having to watch it go
and she'll be so disappointed
when I tell her about the
body bag you decorated for yourself
and how all I could say was "okay,"
when you asked if I'd be the one
to dress you in it.