SHARED FAULT

 

Shared Fault

If blame must land somewhere,

a confession scratched out,

a guilty plea muttered low—

then we’re both tangled in it,

co-conspirators

in the reckless dance

over those twin yellow veins,

stretched taut across the asphalt’s skin.  

Your memory bends like a prism,

catching only the light you choose—

those elegant hands,

fingers sharp as blades,

slice the air toward me,

carving me the villain.

You sidestep the old truth,

the chain of what ignites what—

you, the flint,

me, the spark that flares.  

This storm of yours,

all wildfire and woman’s fury,

voice climbing to a jagged peak,

hurling accusations like stones—

you pile the weight on me,

a landslide of your own making.

But it doesn’t spark my rage,

doesn’t tighten my fists.

Instead, I find a crooked grin,

a glint of charm

in your fierce, unyielding stand—

the way you armor up,

so certain,

so beautifully flawed.  

What stokes your fire most,

what singes beneath the noise,

is the mirror you won’t face—

the quiet sting

of knowing

you’ve misdrawn the lines,

and the fault’s

a shadow we both cast.