Do you really have to rip out my liver?
Do you really have to gorge out and study my entrails?
Just to get an idea
of what our future together
would be like.
Do you really have to rely upon such arcane methods,
to
reassure yourself of my love?
What about going with the flow of your feelings?
What about trusting your heart?
What about your sense of adventure?
Don’t you have enough strength left inside of you
to sacrifice,
to wager upon our ability
to
make things work?
Or do you find some sort of sadistic pleasure
in turning
love into hate,
just so you can point a finger at me
one day
and say:
“There, there, I knew all along
you’re going to break.”
March 2, 1997