You didn’t say janbiya, but I felt it on the back

of my neck.  I, surprised as always,

taut and learned from your sharp words cloaked in curves,

look for a new path to burn.

 

It leads nowhere. I turn away

From the realization that your lips form nothing but

Promises, a carriage for indirect truths. I learn too—

Ignore your curves, but not your slants. I can’t explain—everything

I give you couldn’t—how the corners of the table

Curve through the years. Pains, like edges,

 

Dull, and the knees of those groping through the dark will be

Saved a little trouble. My curves and edges now compromise.