because your eyes look different under fluorescent light
than under my cover of night (when you come)
because I shook and asked you
or someone took my hands and begged you
to let me turn you black & blue.
my legs shake too, just like a victim
of burning or too much water
my father should have warned me
but he smiles.
at least someone here is learning
(not his daughter)
a picture: you leaving
we walk slowly so you can drive
miles away quickly, deliberately
as a child walks with teaspoons
poorly measured
and heaping to the door
I turn the lock to the right
and sink to the floor
to write poetry
or an entry
in a document to slip
inside my pocket
it’s mostly a comet
to keep inside the closet
or underneath a blanket
where it ended and started.