The Only Thing I Know
His eyes dilate when he’s angry.
His tongue spits venom.
The tips of his ears catch fire.
But his stare is like a bullet tracking its victim,
Chasing me despite my avoidance.
The contents of his bedroom slip out of his hands, soaring towards me
Like the words he didn’t mean to say.
The words he’ll apologize for tomorrow.
While his mind rages, I try to focus on familiar things:
The way the sides of his mouth move when he talks.
How his eyes smile when he laughs.
How every muscle in his face relaxes when I kiss him.
How he throws his head backwards when he laughs.
How his fingers envelope mine.
How he’ll smile when this fit is over.
When the mania finally releases its tight grip on his reality.
We’ve been visiting this mental space more often than ever before,
The oppressors no longer doing their job.
I sit and hold onto his hand, rub his thumb with mine,
Wait for his mind to calm and his body to stop rocking on the floor.
Wait for the chills, sweats, and anger to leave him.
And try to focus on what’s familiar:
There isn’t much that I know
But his eyes dilate when he’s angry.
And still, I melt.