You love me so much you want to be the muck ground in my shoes.

You love me so much you want to talk to me at knifepoint until 3 am.

You love me so much you want to sleep in my underwear drawer.

You love me so much you want to taste every hair stuck in the drain.

You love me so much you want to be the spoiled milk I spit out.

You love me so much you want to pierce my earlobe when I sleep.

You love me so much you want to spray paint our names on a bridge.

You love me so much you want to fuck me at work and get me fired.

You love me so much you want to lock me in the basement all the time.

You love me so much you want to brand my birthdate on your leg.

You love me so much you want to scalp me and wear my hair as a wig.

You love me so much you want to burn sonnets under my feet with matches.

You love me so much you want to shoot anyone who knocks at the door.

You love me so much you forgive me for being just another empty body.

 

 

Justin Holliday is an English lecturer and poet. His work has appeared in Queen Mob’s Teahouse, Impossible Archetype, gobbet, Fire Poetry, Lehigh Valley Vanguard, and elsewhere.