I liked it.
That’s the problem-
Don’t you see?
Please stop staring
And glaring at me I
Can taste the salty tears
Falling from the corners
Of your eyes, rubbed raw
Against the cuff of a sweater
Sleeve and please-
Don’t look at me that way.
You can’t be afraid; look, I can
Explain she came home late, my
Car with chipped paint and
Bent fender gleaming, a
Contorted, twisted knot rotting
Off of my cherry red Chevrolet.
I had done her a favor.
How I savored that shrill-
Voiced excuse echoing in our
Bedroom but it was of
No use; it wouldn’t do.
My palms slipped I
Just reached towards her
Fragile frame, bird’s bones
Arranged in a wide-hipped
Human skeleton, so delicate
And dying to break-
I wanted to make
A point.
But on her neck remained
A bruise, brushed on like
Thick purple paint, the Japanese
Maple leaf-shaped stain
I had made.
Her limp wrists and
Glazed eyes felt so
Right, this warm feeling
Inside washed my skin
With warm panting
Breath and sweat I fell
To the bed and in tight blankets and
Slept soundly through the night-
And your silence
Bores through me
Like a hot iron rod
But you see…
I can’t help it, it’s what
I like.
Oh God.
It’s what I like.