I bottled cold shower water, drink
a glass each time I think of you.
I melted a pair of brass knuckles,
put the cooled slivers into capsules;
this keeps your hands sheathed.
When you bring monogamy
to a chop shop, you get my
mono ag. You don’t know
how to put it back together
once the good parts are sold.
I want you to be the reason
I’m sore in the morning.
I’ll practice hard until you are.
J. Bradley is the author of the novella Bodies Made of Smoke (HOUSEFIRE Publishing, 2011). He is a contributing writer to Specter Magazine, the Interviews Editor of PANK Magazine, and lives at iheartfailure.net.
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