A Little Blood Between Me and Thee

by Verlaine

 

"Come back to bed," he says.

As if it were that easy.

 

As if the smell of blood didn't linger

Clinging to my hands, my shirt, my soul

Like iron, only sweeter,

Like cleaning my gun in a candy store.

I've washed and washed —

Lady Macbeth has nothing on Ken Hutchinson tonight —

But the sticky-tacky feeling between my fingers

Won't let go.

Won't.

Been to that holiday in hell before

Didn't like the t-shirt the first time.

 

"Only a nosebleed," he says.

As if it made a difference.

 

I guess it does, at that.

For once, he isn't

Shot

Stabbed

Poisoned

Beaten

Kidnapped

Hit by a car

Abandoned by a love

Screwed by the system

Betrayed by a friend.

How long can even his brave heart

Keep pumping, as the blood seeps out

Through a million daily cuts?

How long before that bitch,

The Street,

Finally opens her mouth and takes one last bite?

Chews him up like one of his burritos

And spits the bones out at my feet?

 

"Come back to bed," he says.

As if that could fix everything.

 

Maybe, for him, it does.

It's where I've drawn the line in the sand.

Nothing hurts him here, not even me,

No blood on my hands, my mouth, my cock.

Even my tongue, unholy viper with a razor's edge

Has learned to lie down here.

In this small space of midnight blue and brass

We find some room for peace.

Peace.

We'll hold each other until the memory of blood

Is just a vague pink ghost.

 

"Come back to bed," he says.

 

As if I'd go anywhere else.