When she says
that the gun
is only for me,
I think about the
times that we

strolled though,
and off along
the garden paths
with dripping orchids,
hand in hand

and as we poured
each other into
the vessels of our souls,
tomorrow faded from
view, and became

the magazine which
portrayed our
9 bullet past
in brief, harsh,
contrasts

and the echoing reports
were all that we ever cared for
in the din
of so much more