On the way home,
we drove in silence
sinking
into the shadows
of movement,
carved from the moonlight
of unsung promises.
Your mind filled
with red wine and chuckles,
Mine churning the memories
we grilled over the open fire
to devour,
to forget.
On the way home,
we turned a corner
down a familiar road,
I saw feathers
tossed along the sidewalk,
dressing the splintered skin
for our burial,
a soft harmony to nature’s eulogy,
drooling from its beak.
There in the opening
lay the flesh and guts
of a broken love.
I heard my voice
lodged in its throat.
I saw my reflection
in its blood.
On the way home,
we ran a red light.
Our bodies collided,
louder than I love you,
softer than the last time,
we murmured good night.
I told you to leave me there.
Let my memories seep
from the wounds
where our skin meets.
Let my blood drain
from your lips,
and the swollen lies
of your kiss.
But here I am,
collecting your feathers
from the nest
you built inside of me,
soaking in the yolk
spilling from the promise
you left in my bed.
Here I am,
on the way home,
waiting
by the broken love
on the side of the road,
to die,
and fall in love
again.