I sit and pick the dirt out from under my fingernails —
you are washing the blood from my clothing.
Your hands are blistered, bleeding into the water.
Something redder than red and more comfortable to us than any bed or chair.
Every death of ours is cherished.
You look up from the bloodied water and you smile — crooked teeth and tired eyes.
I have never loved anyone more than you.

- a.a.j