He shrugs and builds a fire

A brief summary of an experience I had with a lover who was addicted to heroin this story is about the first time he shot up -- and about my heart hereafter

there was the white noise of cigarette plastic and the jostling of silverware

sounded frantic over his muttering, cussing

only a canvas wall between us as I stayed sitting 

outside the camper -- watching the first of the lightning bugs emerge from the sunset

He could never look at me straight on when he took me out to his shack in the woods

something about his eyes couldn't hardly focus -- like he was looking over my shoulder and into my face all the same

But this time

A lighter sparks

"come on come on"

then the popping of a small orange cap

and long sigh of relief.

and when he came out

he wasn't looking at me - not just at me

me and everywhere beyond us two like

he knew he would get caught and it would all fall apart

The first time he made love to me, he was sick

sweating, cold though, and trying his hardest to laugh it off

And on this slab of concrete a thousand miles away now

I'm here waiting for it all to change, 

For him to look me in the face and say something like

"I love you more than that"

or "come home"

Or anything

but the blood in me and the warm home between my legs 

neither touch his opiate receptors the same way

I can't be cooked down and rushed in

bled out

bought again infinitely 

not ever won by a phonecall or a short wait in the drug store parking lot

and certainly never pursued with such feverish urgency