Love did not proclaim
itself my savior
and wait open-armed
under my window at midnight
for my suffering to tenderly fall -
one last impression
upon the mattress
like some stranger's bad habits.
It did not gun me down in the street
or slip a blade
to carve my ribs,
tabloid lust
leaving its fingerprints
to console my enemies,
my face flatlining
against the heavens.
It did not roll and toss me
into self-made dark
or fitful dreams of couples
merging knees and elbows
like cattle,
angry and toiling
against the thick trick of disguise
Instead it came clean sheeted
tucked and cornered -
cool and comforting
like spring's know