It hangs in the space between
our swollen lips and lies
in the air
between those hushed
and hurried whispers
and makes its home
in the war-torn collateral
left behind by four years of
misplaced trust.

It emanates from the tears I shed
in secret as you spin her
around the dance floor
and sigh into her ear
the words you used to save
for me.

It is the gentle vibration
of the shotgun
shaking between my fingers
beneath two tight-shut eyes.

It is the secrets you keep from
yourself as you stammer
some half-hearted explanation.

Perhaps it is the reason I cannot
pull the trigger.

Perhaps it is the reason I never will.