While the sun got higher,
we stayed low--
swaying and sweating in the trenches
like outlaws on the run.

We shoot to ****.

Today I am a loaded pistol
and your palm is pressed against my action,
waiting for your moment--
waiting for a green light--
waiting for me to crawl back into bed and pull the trigger--
and your hands are set ablaze,
waiting to light the fuse.

Here I am,
in hiding,
belly to the earth,
eyes shut.

It's not late enough for fireworks.
It's not early enough to be wasting your time.