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