What mess is this, now,
left over from your parading like a fool?
I caught you with your hands well in
More than spilled wine or blood
stained rugs and socks,
the fracture is deliberate and heavy.
Your almighty laugh rings out.
You grin garishly
and swipe at my side as I pass.
I’ll grab you hand and spin us into a dance again
I’ll turn your wrist just so it hurts
and bend you back over the barcalounger,
lunge over the ottoman,
stumble over the three sets of tinkertoys,
knock us both against the coffee table with the last of the wine.
You will take this and more.
Because you love me.