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.