you love like a man
who knows he's never coming back,
who's using his last chance for this,
because where he's going is no place for grace.

you envy the glitter's sparkle,
to be shed and still shine.
your only glow is not yours-
it is theirs, just as you are.
you know better than to hope
for a brilliance you cannot wash clean.

you'll claw your name into his back-
no one's ever seen it
because he does not run,
which is how you know
that this pulsating, precious wreck
of bruising brushes and cutthroat kisses
will not chase him away.

and you will stay.

you are sorry
for disappointing them,
but you are not sorry for loving him.
you cannot regret shy smiles
and tentative touches
and sweet confections that cling to his lips
until you taste them for yourself.

you will not regret peace.

dear wing ding,
when i named you after nightwing's
batarangs,
it was not because i wanted you
to become a projectile.
you are squishy,
you are soft,
and in other words
100% breakable.
please stop trying to die.

he never expected
to be irreplaceable.
he would wish
he weren't
if he knew how
your smile reaches for him
and sags
when he is not there
to frame it with bruised hands
and love-worn eyes.

but he is not here,
and you smile still,
your mouth the chalk outlines
at a crime scene.

the butterflies in your stomach
you press into the dunes of his skin,
delicate wings
trembling with your lips.

they could tear
so easily
on the gravel of his cheeks.