When he kissed me, I thought he’d conquer the parts of him too much like his mother.
I thought he’d lose the pieces of militant voices inside his head on the curves of my hips.
I think he was trying to bury himself in me…
I know that I let him.
He punctuated every apology with the same melancholy mitigation.
Like a true addict, I told him that was enough.

It wasn’t.
It still isn’t
but I always miss him.
He helped  build my heart from scratch,
and I will always love him.