grab-to-heart, miming gunshot wound in the kitchen
when she exits her bedroom for me
the first time, be still! my heart.
i tasted like cigarettes and zip-up sweatshirts. she used to cry over the newspaper, a love so big it trickled down the back of your hand
like ripe fruit.
my laugh lines more shadow than joy now.
my penance overflowing the bathroom sink, i shove
the bathmat under the crack to keep from spilling
everywhere, i don't want to ruin your shoes again, in the dreams,
she places my wet hands on her hips like
teaching me how to ride a bike, you never forget.
traces the laugh lines around my mouth,
i want to touch her's, answer
"yes, my darling, they are beautiful,
we made these,
we made these."