The only safe place to stand
when looking at guns
is to one side.

When I look into
your eyes, I see gunbarrels,
and I am trying to discover
what it would take
to move that trigger.

If you close your eyes and someone says,
“Imagine you’re looking down a gun barrel,”
which end do you see
when you open your eyes?
I see your face. I see
wonders and dangers. I see
they may kill me,
but that there’s also a chance of resting my head
for a moment, a day, a whole
heaven of smoke and circumstance.

I have no idea what you want.
I’m not sure if I should ask you.
I only know there’s a whiff of black powder in the air.

Black powder guns hang fire far too often,
and blow up in their lovers’ arms.
You might think they’d be obsolete by now,
but there are those
who cannot let things go, and
that’s the way I feel tonight. That’s why
every time you blink, I shiver. Every time you move,
I freeze. Every time our eyes meet,
I pray for the strength to fire back.