So, here’s the problem. I’m in love, but I’m not. Love him, don’t.

I knew before he came, wide-striped stalwart dragon breathing me.

I dreamed him in my bed, in my shower, at the gas pump, eons ago,

a new mom, old wife, frigid, estranged, but there he was, faceless.

And when he spoke my name, behind the bush, at the hotel, I shuddered.

Shut. down. So that’s what I look like, that’s the rod and reel bait. Me.

 

So now we know, now we know.

 

I had to love his strength, muscle-bound black and white lines, like

“hey, you know you’re my world; don’t shatter it. You’re mine.”

Does everyone truly love a fascist, twisted up, tied down in a cliche?

Ten years gone, a heyday of sorts, of sordid pause, a shadow in relief,

Who said a woman must have everything, in adamantine chords, chained

to the sound of her own voice? Watch out for wishes. They may drown you.

Like smoke, drink, coke, a bite of your nails to the nub, habits stain passion.

We fold ourselves one into another, unravel and curl up in slaughtered sleep.

 

So now we know, now we know.

 

I’m a diver. I can’t swim, but I can float. The thrill of the leap tempts me,

every time, but the water’s deep, suspends, airless, still, wide-eyed sleep,

when you stare down death in an air bubble, tip of the nose, fourth eye.

And when you break the surface, you can breathe in the banal with relief.

My lonely habit, soft spectral contrail, I long to touch, until my fingertips

crush beneath your palm, captive tears, dying to free, me, to the river’s edge.

 

So now we know. so now we know.