Every time she misses I believe
in dragon dresses batlike in the wind,
in steel that nicks my neck so I can bleed,
and promises that no one can rescind.

Every time she ties me to the wheel
I know the pain of turning cruciform.
Every blur of metal makes me hope,
every time she misses I must mourn.

The punters gasp. A perforated leg.
I shall not walk abroad. The vein that’s cut
should bleed tonight forever by the moon.
She takes the wound and heals me. Heals me. But

I know when we make love incisors close
to cleave my neck one thousand years ago.
Another knife is thrown. Come, hear it sing,
and hear me stutter how she spoils the show

by letting me live ringed around by knives,
desiring only her, and this my bane,
that I, whose blood she needs, must lie and watch
her silhouette and cruel carving aim.