You call me in the middle of the day

for groceries and what not. What does

walking out doors mean to you?

I can give only so much

the rest is failure to be

the type of woman you want.

People can rally outside about

how my heart is sore from

the bruises, but you iron

them out with your touch.

I ignore you most of the time,

hate you, caress you in your sleep.

I love you when I want

and ask you to pretend I

do not even exist. You

walk out and threaten to

never love me again. As if.

Could you ever stop? Even if I

crash and die tomorrow,

you know how nothing

between us can ever change.

No woman. No man. No child.

Noting can come between this love.

Except my words.

My poetry can perhaps move

your everything into

nothing. But you know

how much harder you fight

to keep me close

than I ever could.