Coward

Listen, when M. climbed inside a sheep's hull all the field was silent because of the view, sure there were pieces of slick ruby flesh, and yes she wasn't yet used to hooves or hands, there were no more omelets but all the desire was the same violin-thin greens, straw then hay, and hey, sometimes we can't always get it right, but the point is we try, so M. crawled to your bedroom as more ragdoll than sheep, and I could smell her from ages away because that's the kind of hound I am, and I always bet on owners who hunched over the kitchen sink, men with crumpled cigarettes, all neon hanging from their fingertips, yes there were scars, yes someone took part of my ear and yes I'll fall in love with anyone who pours me water, which is to say when you leave me I'll turn to sink ash, but not before I wipe my tendons and hell teeth across the dining room, your favorite mother's wallpaper is full of small yellow birds, I always wondered why farmers treated gods like dogs until M. entered the kitchen, neither good nor bad, just tired, I recognized in her the same kind of exhaustion, when you wake and your only good muscle is screaming, there is no hope, there is only my heart which has grown too large for you to hold, I'm sorry for the dirt on the overalls and how I exposed my blood to you each evening, I try not to observe love or luck but still, when your wife almost drowned in the tub I barely whimpered, I was the claw-feet and the scent of chamomile you couldn't scrub off for weeks, now I am your sense of disbelief, I am your darling little betrayal, I eat the heart of your ex in the early moonlight, the others are singing, what are the lyrics, and there you stand with a flashlight and a knife, you wonder if I am wolf or woman, am I wicked or a shockingly warm wildfire spark, would you believe me if I told you I never wanted any of this to happen, no, it's the same old certainty, the lonely man in his wooden house eats cold cereal by the wood stove and mourns too many women, you were never good at choosing sides but I thought you might pick me, I thought if I showed you the depth and size of my wound you would understand, the blood on my teeth is sometimes my own, instead you made two coffins to collect dust over the kitchen sink and all the other animals whisper stories about our betrayal and all the cows refuse to provide you milk.