I wear your clothes at night to not remind
my body of its own attempted ruin.
I dream of dust and dead leaves and the
soft space beneath your clavicle. I praise
your crooked ways of loving; your handgun
affections. You carved your likeness into
my retinas, illuminated the
current that carries my heightened unrest.

For all of this, I continue to forgive
that we will ascertain our once holy ground.