day eight

it takes two
double shots of beam
to have the same conversation
every night
of this week.
one to push my heart
out of my mouth,
another to wash it down.
and there will always be things i won’t say,
syllables that teeter
on the edge
of my tongue,
only to be swallowed along with the rest of my fears.
if i could, i would say it all at once,
but there will be no such denouement.

(from the outside:)
he doesn’t believe that
it is possible
to hold her hand,
but he will continue to
let her voice slip down his throat
and gently extract secrets from his soul.
he is not the same person
who brought her flowers.
she doesn’t expect luck,
he has never held
cards far from his chest.

if i thought
we were the kind of people
to stop a tsunami dead in its tracks,
i would kiss you
right now,
but i am not inclined to perform such heroic deeds