White-knuckle Love

You grew up with feral dogs

and half broke horses

Empty whiskey bottles like

ammunition under your pillowcases

Doting over that snarl in their eye

the wild fury like freedom in their veins

Hugging their squirming bodies against you

teeth gnashing for the sinew of your neck

Willing to mincemeat your heart

if they would love you back

Dipping torn toe pads into iodine baths

and riding bucking stallions fit for glue

Resetting broken bones

trying to mold them into something new

Climbing back into the saddle

just like your mother taught you

How precious, the way you crave

that nip at your heels, that stomp in the dirt

Thinking that love is only special

when it’s trying to kill you