by CL Bledsoe

I’ve died here before. I’ve died here
and kept stumbling toward that place
where everyone is safe. I’ve seen it
on tee-shirts. I hear helicopters, but they
aren’t for me. You were the only way
I could rise. Don’t leave me with the moon
for my only friend. It’s cold and they banned
me from Waffle House for starting
a fire. I miss you. The moon misses not being
the coldest place in town. Come back
and let me learn to love you the way you want
to be loved. I’ll be all right. Take my arm
as we walk into oncoming traffic. The fuckers
will stop if we glare hard enough. I’ll be
the bed you stumble toward, half-blind and drunk.
You’ve got your cat and wine but they won’t keep
you warm. Baby, I’ve got a fireplace. I’ll use
myself for kindling.