I carry band-aids with me just in case
my warning signs are not out
and people slip and fall on my own wounds
deep as manholes.
Paper cuts are like toothaches
but with blood, and my neck is a whiskey bottle.
I get drunk out of placing my hands perfectly
on my lovers’ jaw and he sends me letters
when he leaves. It is always a goodbye
and I am not one to wear helmets
for anything, not even love.
I learned how to chew them
like the first candy you find
after a hunger strike. Yesterday,
I went to the grocery store and
the cashier, the old lady with a scarf,
the security guard asked me where you were.
I realized people still imagine me with you
and just like them I am still hoping
that some day, I will no longer have to."