to you, with love

there have been three
recorded instances, where
I forgot to polish your
pedestal with the sweat
you brew to stay there
in my head. it takes far
too much of me to say
that it crumbled to debris
in four word messages
and a clumsy burial for
our dusted hatchet.

though it took three,
staggering years to
come up with a stand
angry enough to say,
your pedestal fell to its
grave when I swung our
hatchet into your
beautiful,
beautiful face.