Slow Burn

The slow burn of a constrictor weaving its body around my stomach wakes me.

I almost forget why I am nervous

Before I remember.

 

The conversation we had last night left me in tears and you in anger.

Fuming, burning with confusion and annoyance,

But a cold stare locked on my face.

 

I can’t understand.

All I know for you is love

And I try to understand when you apologize

And when you say you were drunk,

But I somehow can’t make you understand

That that isn’t an excuse.

 

That that isn’t a free pass to safety and the continuance of us,

When your words strike as hard as whips and your hands grip like vices around my wrists.

You would never try to hurt me.

But you were drunk.

And “drunk-you” doesn’t know his limits

And “drunk-you” doesn’t know why I always have to cry

When I see

The flashes of anger in my direction

When I ask for a kiss

Or another drink

Or to go home

Or to turn the music down

Or to please, please listen

Before I begin releasing how I feel

In an accidental wave of brine

Pouring from the my eyes.

You always say you love my eyes.

They're green

And grow greener

With the redness that emerges 

Why I cry.

I love you.

I can’t change that.

But sometimes, I want to.