Revision

Let’s try it again. This time
I won’t be laying stoned in your bed
while you’re putting on your makeup and your dress.

Maybe instead I could put on
your makeup and your dress and we
could kiss and take a picture like running
fingers over the inside surface of our passions.

We could try again on a bridge with a whole
mess of stars, too many to keep
out of our hair.

I’ll fish the shoebox of broken glass out from
under your bed. We’ll build a room to live in
and this time the closet can stay but forget
the handgun at the bottom of the gift bag.

We’ll try it again in a city
with no sharp edges or exits.

There will be balconies and photograph albums.
In every picture we’ll be toasting and our smiles
will look like two champagne glasses clinking together.

I’ll figure out a way
to keep those glasses from running dry if you can stop
bursting them against the walls whenever you get angry.

We can overlook that ugly moment when
I tried to break some boy’s teeth at a party
because I thought he was sleeping with you

and turn it into a magic act
where every shattered thing
gets transfigured into a bird
and nobody gets hurt.

Let’s start over
but this time when we meet eyes
through a crowd I’ll walk away.

We can find our own
street corners to occupy while we pray
for busses to come hit us and when
they don’t come I’ll get lost
and marry whoever finds me.

Her and I will move
to the city. I’ll quit
smoking and drink less.

You’ll be somewhere else
for a little while, getting happier

every day until one particular thursday
when I find you at the corner grocer
picking out flowers, running fingers
over the inside surface of their petals.

I’ll say, “It’s strange peonies
never seem to be in season here”
and you won't say anything,
just pick up some lilies
and smile at me while you
walk out into the crowded afternoon.