Conjugations of the verb ‘shiv’

 
You asked me once  
if I’d ever kill you in  
a poem.  
 
I swallow hard  
sick and shaking  
at the feel of  
your hand cupped around  
my bare calf  
 
We look for dick-shaped  
clouds and feed each  
profane chocolate  
my back against a tree,  
your back against me.  
 
And the sun has never  
been this bright.  
 
I’ve never been  
this  
(dangerous)  
relaxed  
(in love)  
 
My hands twitch.  
 
I toy with your hair,  
tickle your arms with  
my fingertips,  
run my lips  
along your neck  
as if I could somehow  
store the texture of  
your beautiful soul,  
bank you  
in the empty  
vault in my chest  
 
while my free hand toys  
with a hilt still  
tacky from the last  
well-meaning  
asshole who  
believed  
that I could be  
anything other  
than what I claimed.  
 
I trace the end  
of the hilt  
as a tear  
tracks my cheek  
unnoticed.  
Your back is turned  
which makes it easy  
 
to be me.  
 
But….  
 
You make me want to not be me.  
 
You make me want to  
not be me, goddamn it.  
 
You make me want to  
hold you until our skin  
welts from mosquito bites,  
while we make slow love  
in the grass  
serenade  
by cricket  
nightsongs  
 
You make me want  
to peel off the scars  
and let you  
kiss my sinewy  
insides  
 
You make me want  
to be the type of  
person who  
does the  
love thing  
 
without knives.  
 
I …  
 
I let my hand fall  
from the handle,  
wrap my legs  
around your body  
and curl over you  
like a flesh backpack,  
as if I could protect  
you from me  
 
You asked me once  
if I’d ever you kill  
in a poem  
 
My love….  
 
I shoved the knife  
in your chest  
the moment  
I fell for you  
 
The only thing  
that stemmed the  
fatal flow of  
heartblood  
is that  
I didn’t pull it out  
 
and  
how  
my  
 
hands  
 
twitch