a saw blade to the guts

 
The first time I  
kissed your bleeding
knuckles,  
 
was because you punched  
a steel wall  
when I called you  
a liar  
 
and I apologized  
and huddled  
against your  
side  
desperate  
to feel our  
languid heat  
against my cheek
 
and we sat  
here.
 
right the fuck here.  
 
in the dark
sobbing  
for things  
we couldn't describe  
and lives  
we shouldn't steal  
 
but we did  
 
we stole those lives  
stole the fuck out of them,
and lived under  
warm glass against
the snow flurries  
 
and I saw the  
devastation  
on a sacred space  
again  
and I moved  
to rub your pain  
across my  
lips  
so I could taste  
the hurt  
 
but I couldn't move,  
 
I could not move.  
 
I'm still rooted to the spot  
with a saw blade  
shattered in my guts
 
exactly where  
you left it  
 
exactly  
where  
you  
left  
 
us