it turns out that vomit,
tastes like vomit.
pig feed tastes like pig feed.
forbidden honey tastes like honey.
to trade the sweetness of your presence for the taste of perversion,
was foolishness,
it was harlotry.
the mountain smokes,
and cigarettes smoke too.
say your marriage vows with your fingers crossed,
behind the back,
or in the mind,
all the same.
stain the dress,
throw out the cake,
send the guests home.
this is no wedding,
this is horseplay.
the honeymoon was fun,
but we forgot to build a house.
we used to dance in the kitchen,
then i became bored,
and danced in the nightclubs.
the neon gods are easier to talk to.
i called you old-fashioned,
distant,
irrelevant,
boring.
demons look like people in the daylight,
and you look like breath in the night.
i called the ceremony formality,
riddled the memories with philosophy,
ancient legends,
and good vibes.
i reduced you to a thought,
cut you down to a feeling.
but your voice i could not escape.
you never forgot the vows,
the kiss,
the dance.
you waited.
you wrote me letters,
called out my name in the town square,
every morning,
and every night.
why don’t you give up?
you are relentless,
you are obsessive.
even when i sat in my shit,
you sat with me.
you cleaned me up,
wiped the vomit off my mouth,
and bathed me in the clean water of your spirit.
i told you i was leaving,
maybe a hundred times.
but you weren’t worried.
you just waited.
if waiting isn’t love,
i don’t know what is.
