in three sittings

Take comfort in the
peace that is within your skin
because I did once.
In the two seconds your
mascara brush hesitated.
I shrugged it off
took both you and your sheets
for granted.
These jars don't keep
when you leave the lights on.
Cellars are for storing preserves.
It's damp between my voice and the sky.
So let my eyes be a pressure gauge
when you whisper about
evils we don't get better from;
just better at.
If you can't believe them,
join them.
Tote cannonball handbags
with you when you walk
these freeways I've paved.
I've forced prohibitions
in my organs and now the rum runners
run wild.
They all carry tommy guns
and poor judgment.
Self defense is imperative
to your survival in my heart.
And if I weren't so tired of
being alone,
I would not have let you in.
But my constant fidgeting has
left these pages thin.
Be gentle when you shelve me.
The glue has brittled in my bindings
And at any moment
a chapter may scatter
across the floor
that you haven't read yet.
I lost the patience putting me
back in order deserves.
My spirit guide quit
two weeks into the job
sighting my second guessing
as "problematic" to our professional
relationship.
But darling,
I didn't grow wings to be a vulture.
Don't trust the soft voice of
a preacher when he has teeth
like a leech.
You'll bleed out
and have nothing left to spit
when you speak.
You're a legend I've been
convincing myself will jump out
of a fable
and keep my apathy in its cave
Don't call me a pacificst.
I'll set fire to your libraries,
until you learn to read
in between my lines and
accept the fact that I've been
dislocating my bones to reach you
before compassion is extinct.
Don't love me like you fucked me.
Love me like you birthed me
and I was worthy of being proud of.
And perhaps I'll be exhausted
enough to admit I'd give anything
to be an anonymous martyr
for you.
Because I believe,
during days drowning in rain,
that your heart cannot be contained
in a cage so tight,
you bleed rust.
Saddle a cannonball with me.
Serrate the wind
with your sternum,
chest first.
Breaking clouds over your collarbone.
Let tomorrow be much farther
than a day away
and holding hands a capitol crime.
So at dusk, we would
trip over panic attacks
slinking into an alley
to play thumb wars.
And when I lose,
I'll pull back 23 years of lies
so you can know
that when I called you beautiful,
I didn't have to consult my eyes.