(Guilty) of the naked pictures on your phone I sent you
when we were still together, and when we weren’t,
and the time I threw a shoe at you and yelled
‘I hate you’ when all I really wanted to do
was glue your mouth to mine. Have the doctors say
‘What on earth were they thinking’ and we
could have told them over and over, we weren’t.
We weren’t thinking at all and that’s okay.
Guilty of the bloody nose I had
this morning because even the blood inside me
is running after you.
Of the flowers that have drooped open
like surrender on the windowsill because they
are children doing what they see, because that’s
how I loved you, because that’s how I missed you.
Guilty of still catching myself wearing your shirt
to sleep sometimes. Going to grab something
of mine and ending up grabbing yours
and then realizing it is mine, probably more mine
than any of my own things. As mine
as my own skin, as mine as yours is yours.
I try to peel you off of me and I am all bones
Guilty of still loving you. Of the broken fingers
from holding onto your memory
like it’s the only one I have. You, the lump
nestled in my throat.
You, the hero that shows up in my dreams
and saves me. You, the monster that shows up
in my dreams and kisses me goodnight.