adrena

The safety is on and the setting sun,
pulses with anticipation.
Walking up a pilgrimage
Kicking the filth with rattleskin, rat skin boots
Pushing on your bruise
And I find myself
Kissing the back of a wounded gun
Poised to swallow
Paused to think
Stopping and starting
Stopping and starting in the back of a filthy hotel diner
Back there the woman who handles our food hates me
And loves you
In your young manhood
And I hate me in my lack of masculinity, just in spite
To spite the power sitting between my legs
Cocked now
The sun long set
Kicking under the table, boots in mildew
And the smell of rotten flesh is rising to the senses of paranoia
Starting the action
Walking out the trap door, front door
You turning just to speak, just in time to catch
Bullet signed with a drop of borrowed blood
Flown from out my temple, my forehead
From under a piece of lackluster hair
In shadow steeping shades of moonlight
To land near a gun
With the safety still on
My finger still clutching the trigger.