Jug Wine

I tried to write a love poem,
tried to tell you I am certain in
our happily-ever-after-till-tomorrow

(tripping over baby-I-love-yous and
let’s-stay-in-bed-together-forevers)
but these words catch behind the

scream I cannot bring myself to bear,
the fruit of a maybe life with you hung up on
the certain harvest of my quiet life alone.

for where you are settled,
you are certain,
and you want me now and for forever

I am skulking in the railyard
waiting for the next train out of town
carrying a bag loaded with the words I know not how to say,

loaded with regret,
weighted down by fear,
because running feels better than letting down walls

because running is familiar,
because I love yous so often end
with I told you sos and

one day you may wake up next to me and
turn your face the other way when
you see me naked and only as I am.

And all I am certain of today is
my fear that you will find me out,
my anxiety over failing to be good enough,

the list of failures I could read to you
(past present and most certainly future)
longer than the train that will carry me away,

the terror building in the back of my throat
louder than the whistle of the midnight express
I have always known I could depend on

your welcome though unsettling attention something I could
carry buried with my doubts until they rotted in the dark together,
and I drunk forever on this sick forgotten fruit.