Don't you dare look at me
with those sweet blue eyes of yours.
How they penetrate my thoughts!
You talk to me sweet in light,
but at dark, when you
have been letting the words
spill from your mouth
to your dear old friend Jim Beam--
while he pours thoughts
into your mind,
words you are too afraid to speak on your own.
You turn a corner.
I find a hand on my face;
red, welting.
You say it's love.
Tell me--do you ever
remember a time
when love was supposed to
leave bruises, cause black eyes,
and hurt this much?
If only I could see you
in that beautiful light again.
I long for those peaceful nights
when you friend leaves early,
or better yet, doesn't come
to our house for dinner, dessert,
or that midnight snack.
So, I will leave today,
while I still have the breath
to carry me away.