The gaps in your
bone-hearted interrogation
are a candid epilogue
that easily emasculates.
You bring your hand to
greet my jowls. You coax
me into a kiss then shove
me, sweet with a dimpled lie:
lead me, then scold me.
Limp light testifies
with damp clarity
then suggests a penance:
a river’s questionable
commitment to stay put.
You offer a plea deal,
but I cannot stay. I will
endure the punishment.
Unhinged, tested, and
at least when the eulogy
verifies that they warned me,
I’ll know I still would have
taken the chance.
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