There was a truce in your hands,
nails blue, soothing my inflamed skull
while snow drift conversations blew into my eyes.
I found myself in the winters of our youth,
face down, hands frozen to your cross.
Because I was at the punch line of society,
(though you were ardent and held my
hand until I’d reached the register)
Forget your Jesus complex,
I was fucked the moment I laid eyes
on those dark tresses and tawny skin.
You’re too stupid to realize
that I’ve been crucified!
You keep whispering,
“I love you” and
running your fingers through my hair.
