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