Ivy In A StorM

I cut my finger badly on the edge of the shrieking tin can -teeth like midnight in an east coast blizzard -it bled for two days like a letter to a lover.

I wrote about the shadowless corners of our bedroom
where rage once lashed forth and crumbled to the edges of light and dark.
Where sleep, scratched at the walls, and climbed up our legs like ivy in a storm.
Where promises were always kept and safe words were the domain of quitters and nonbelievers!

In the mornings we’d find notes from the neighbor, slid in through the bottom of our front door.

“Please stop, we have children.”

To that you replied:

“And how the fuck did you make those children, motherfucker?”

At the time, that was the funniest thing I had ever heard come out of anyone’s mouth.

And we never did get our deposit back.

So you were right

You win.