The Whip And The Gun (Poetry)

I didn’t used to think
of you that often —
(out of sight out of mind)
but lately you’ve returned
in a wave of such raw longing
I taste the salt
upon my skin
I am awash remembering
all that might have happened

Thinking has me whipped
into a thousand cuts
I bleed to realize
I failed to love you
overmuch
at a time I was too young
for anything
but kiss and run
truth fires colder bullets than
any paid assassin’s gun