Self examination is so critical so I want your adverbs to look me in the eye when they label someone else’s hands as the ones you hold, that you’d do anything for love before you give up searching for the victims, how she’s not the one you gave your forever to years ago and I told you I keep my promises and yours would be kept like severed limbs in jars, curio cabinet curiosities and casualties, cures for the common left behinds. It’s less now about nine tenths of law and more about preventing further casualties and stock yard I told you so’s, so tell those other mannequin limbs they’re already bound to a bed. When I get to hell I’ll make amends for our current lack of attachment, telling your father about the wounds I cauterized with words like love and forever, and how you said this could work another day but there’s no way to change fair weather fiances into swans. Pinky promises rendered split like tree-trunk-lightning-bolt-love mean disarmament and dismemberment, we always said, so we gambled on arms and legs; cash in my prizes, please, blindfolded male eyes. Re-entomb me in this womb I sewed around your specter, sterilizing those warrior wounds carved into shoulder curves to feel again. I will feel again.