Are we muses or mere fuses?
     I feel like you took a scoop out of my ribs.
     I feel like you’ve been sucking me like ice.
     I feel like you won’t admit you stole.

Fascinator or fear, I’m still under your skin,
      I know the lie under your tongue.
      I spit and carry on like a haunting.
      I don’t wish anything for you except to crack
               Open and puddle out like warm honey.

I don’t wish you love, I wish you forgiveness.
     The type you’ve been looking for in every
         dark feature of every contour
     of every good woman in Kentucky.
I wish for all your hollow caves to converge.
      That the soft wait ends your stalactite pride,
 bumps as it must against your
                                   stubborn stalagmite stoicism. 
That they meet like cold patient fingers and   
      lock into gripped hands. 
                By this, I mean I wish you safe rest
                inside love longer than a naps worth.
                That late in the day type of sleep
       where you wake up okay and defenseless,
    with afternoon gooey sun eyes
and tell someone who looks like me
       how you finally met me
in a memory
      for the first time
          you learned how to pronounce
          my real name.