The Lightning Arrows of Apprehension

The night was calm with the cities quiet;

but still I drowned in the silence.

I lost me on the way.

His lips took form

of backwards parentheses,

uneasy trembling took over his hands,

his perfect artists hands,

as he breathed apart my lips one

last time.

Words were daggers for us,

increasing space between us,

as lightning arrows escaped our mouths

in form of angry words.

He asked me, "Do you love me with

a capital L or a lower case one?"

I wanted him to make him love me.

And make him fumble with my blouse buttons like when frostbite numbs your skin

and call me angelface,

and have us know more of each other than the stars and seas.

But on our last day,

his hand flew up in exaggerated hand gestures,

or so I tell myself, because it struck my cheekbone.

He spit words in my face and sought out the devil in me;

Calling me a wretched little thing.

I pulled a gun on him,

in this spit-fire fight

and called it my strategy,

for it ashamed me, that I may have needed him once in awhile.

And so I turned on my heel

And lied through my teeth; telling him, "Dah-ling,

your bloods running cold if you think I need you."

Twenty five minutes later,

I was walking home,

numbness in my cheek and a penetrating pounding in my heart

the night was calm, but I was drowning in the silence.

Maybe I just wanted to be able to need him,

and know he loved me enough not to leave.