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Days go by—gentle as a lamb with a lion’s head—but time doesn’t exist in the nights we spend alone. I’m forcing the river to flow, and I’ll keep it going until I pull this thorn from my side. You’re in the back of my mind—a time bomb ticking like a cheap clock—becoming accustomed to the force pushing you ahead. “Stay with me . . . “ Is that what you said? As if I could depart. Still, you’ve left a mark on the monument of my heart like acid rain as I lay here charmed and corroded.

A sharp blow might tell me something different than would time, so should I wait? Or should I re-align my insides? Could we justify the actions? Or would your reaction flood into me? I would die for you, but I’ve never wanted anything less than this. Just one kiss from a lover’s fist . . . (deliver the blow) No one will know. Anti-anxiety could fly free if the water runs red and warm, but even in capsule form; it can’t do too much harm . . .