A fenced suburban dream
where we raised hyacinths,
and you had a faint smile
under the July sun,
under your cowboy hat.

Breath seeps from me
as I lay on the wet tile,
thinking of you.

Someday, I swear,
we can do everything we want to.
And we can pet the crocodiles.

Every day I think of
untwisting and untangling
these strings I’m in.

Every day I think
of taking your hand
and slaying all who stand in my way.

All these thoughts
have led me
to this cul-de-sac.