i keep finding them: knives in your coatpockets,
a shiny skinny garrotte beneath your pillow,
in the silverware drawer a heavy black silencer,
nestled watchfully, a snake between the spoons.
i remember the first time: laughing, peering around
to see if you were watching me, wondering:
were these gifts or signs? what new game is this?
but somewhere along the way began the sense
of unease within my gut, small pains ripening into
small fears, the sense of having missed a turning
and of moving away from warmth, home, peace.
in every room, i stumble upon your lover’s arsenal
mixed up with grocery receipts, stacks of laundry,
junk mail waiting to be sorted. all i’m saying is,
it’s hard to tell anymore. it’s hard to say.


6 thoughts on “arsenal

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