The Munition of Goodbye

Son, when kissing her
felt like holding a knife
with your teeth, do not ask
for a refund of the blood
you’ve already swallowed.

When your mother hisses
the lit fuse of her name,
do not smother it with
“you don’t understand”
shell games.

When you awake from a night
of heaving clogged syllables,
you will find this under your pillow:
“love should never be something
you have to survive.”