For the fifth time this month you say you’re going to leave him.
He calls you a cunt over the phone,
then walks three miles to your house
and kisses your mouth
until the word is just a place on your body.
I don’t know what brings broken people together,
maybe damage seeks out damage,
the way stains on a mattress halo into one another,
the way stains on a mattress bleed into each other.