murderers
always
we go back to the scene of our crime
to see love sprawled on the cold slab
it’s still there
abandoned and
dead
and dying
our hands still unwashed
bloody and laden
but we have nothing to confess
we are not done
yet
unfit to be lovers
we settle for the harshness of words
and the duplicity of action
we dull romance and sharpen tongues
we pierce deep where it kills
another treacherous thrust
and love dies again
we can only stare
never knowing when to break the habit
of staying together
as if walking away were more
criminal
