Contrition

Contrition,
and my fingers like flower stems
lifting toward your nose the gift of carnage, alarming and supple
for you alone to behold, i coerce you to acknowledge
the metallic smell.

Contrition,
and soaked paper towels
we took turns lying awake, taunting the solder.
eyes kept open to keep you near
and to banish volcanic thoughts.

Contrition
is the shimmering alloy fed on dead matter like a fungus-
the second of its kind. Fate was the first.
all I can give is what burgeons from the veins
of my beloved, ineffectual hands.

Contrition,
our feet touch in bed and a garden grows between us.