In each other’s faces

our fists thrash,

screaming incomplete

thoughts that course

shivers through our veins

instead of speaking healing words,

we tell the other to drop dead.

Split our shit in half,

place the house on the market,

and play tug-a-war with the kid

you’re soon to have.

Or we could rest our minds,

embrace growth over time,

sleep in different rooms,

remember why we fell in love,

and sit on the porch, rocking

while retelling memories of

how we worked it out.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040