One Year Married

You eat baby back ribs as if you’re holding up a doubting nun’s crucifix,

shrouded in Stubb’s Smokey Mesquite rather than habit,

electing to indulge only in carnivorous dopamine,

as to only make love with venial sin,

but it occurs to me now that murder should be classified, if anything, as carnivorous

It makes me wonder where you learned that kind of fear

I want to speak to you in child’s rhymes,

so you never have to guess at what I’ll say next,

and I’d rather the galaxy spill her milky secrets from her breasts

than see you wash your hands of her blood,

and, in doing so, your inheritance

I’ve never been allowed to cleanse like that

The closest I came was a borrowed infinity pool

that looked nothing like Bethesda,

or how I’ve always imagined it to be,

but infinity overlooked brown hills and brown cows,

their sleepy shadows waning with the moon

I walked away holier, wishing someone I loved would tell me I looked like it