Leaving you was a matter of walking away, I thought,
then walking further. His grease, teeth, his wolf breath: I took him in.
What if there was wine? There was wine. What if there was vodka?
It wasn't that much wine. What if he had a gun?
There was no gun. I took him in and trotted back to you, obedient,
holding this sin like a dead bird in my mouth, dropping it at your feet,
this gift. Now make the bitch of me, my love:
Turn loose my eyes, let my jaw drop. My tongue, a leash on the bad mutt.
These marble knuckles, fatty and loud. Punch the sweat
from my collarbone—rainwater off a cheap awning, blood untunneling.
Evict me. I am stubborn with tenants no one will miss.
I am a basement of dumb boiler parts, sometimes mistaken for a plan.
I am down to my last lightbulb, landlord pounding at the door
with your fists, your voice: Even fireproof buildings have their escapes.
Even the tame dogs dream of biting clear to the bone.