Suicide car love affair
I pick up and go before you come back with your knife and diligence
The locks on the door
Don’t keep you out
Young love doesn’t age well
Its death is ugly and graceless.
You never liked the unpolished pistol
of the mouth that I touted
The ricochet of which
bent your hands into stone
And found our skins grating and grinding against the alligatored skin
of the soft worn floor
You wanted the keys