that love is a cause and not a consequence
how soon, how often will we teach each other
that love is not a defence but an element of the crime.
How many times will you say I need to know
that love is a lie I don't need to believe in:
how love is your excuse, my justification.
How quickly will I come to admit to myself
that love lies not in the heat nor in the moment
nor the hand bringing down the knife
but in my guilty mind that compels the blade
to darken the night with my heart's bleeding
into a pool so dark I see your reflection:
you walking away, saved by your omission.
You had no duty to care: I had done all the assuming.
