Carried by your wrath
you cared in the angry
bone-crunching perspectives
you pressed upon me,
leaving the taste of metal and salt
from the wound in my mouth.
Looks were either liked or disliked
by your wary animalisms
arrogantly frowned.
There for the breaking
you beat my wild cleverness
into a secret fragile dream.
You were never
consoling and laughed as
you won me over and over again.
You called me one day
aching for a connection,
your sad story about an infection
in the foot you kicked me with;
losing it to diabetes.
Somehow that mattered
in a cliche that rolled around inside my head:
'you've one foot in the grave.'
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