What I Should Have Said

Sure, he came in shorn wet locks too swift
swinging a samurai sword slinging
obscure verse from a hollow heart
wall-to-wall in sticky disgrace

sure, he came to avenge your aging guilt
your fading summer skin
where once grace curved elegantly the flesh
fosters inept shadows beneath
harsh light judgmental and oh god cruel

your savior pressing you into the drywall
stretching your thin wrists in columns through
pulleys palavering your ribcage in slick
running travelers rows a course for
his tongue arterial track of saliva and vaulted flexure

sure, he takes the confession of a lady of secrets
your soft whisper through the curtain
a regular ol country origin in chicken feathers and
dangling opalescent string
curled finger an archer's strength steel cables clutching
at your inner iron architecture
but does that make you a sinner?
does that mean you're forgiven?

TA