you had a gun for everyday of the week
and a new heart to riddle with affection
shaking steel plated fire out onto your palms
you aim, steady as a rock, at her heart,
tearing your love out through her ribcage

the underdog's number was on speed dial,
he always answered with a whistling cough
he would ask of how far this one flew
and you would assure him of her divinity
his organs emptied out into the dial tone

he would arrive soon after, limping to your front door
smelling of tobacco and murderous intentions
with a kiss on her forehead, he packed her up
into neat rosy lines of square dignity
and he would leave with a tilt of his hat

the burning sun set to the sound of your thoughts
and another feathery girl would be waiting inside
her legs folded beneath her, a smile plastered onto her face
and you would tell her of all the hearts you had punctured
until her bulletproof walls had vanished into the carpet.