writing fragment (2/26/25):

bleeding by my own knife, i offer you my love

still warm, still bleeding

you grab it from me like it’s any old thing

a bag of chips, a tennis ball you’d throw to your dog

shove it in your front left pocket along with your car keys

and i flinch with a pang of something like regret

but for now, i’ll ignore it

put on my best showgirl smile

and hold out my hands, ready to receive

i promise i’ll be gentle

cup it lightly in my palms

sacred object that it is

i’ll let my eyes wander over every artery

i’ll love them as i love you

“tell me something honest” i whisper

a moment’s consideration

and you snap the blade shut

shove it into your other front pocket

and say, “let’s pick this up another time”

suddenly i am exposed

with a kiss on my cimson cheek,

you speak the words you wouldn’t write with your blood

“i love you more,” i tell you with utter conviction

and you, with all your audacity

with your heart still beating safely inside your chest

shake your head and say, “no you don’t”

always the winner

never the fool