to all the men I've loved before IV

Baristas who know my regular order, library clerks with long necklaces ask where the hole in my chest came from and I say it is a war wound and mean you. The day we met I said you looked like Arizona and smelled like Vietnam and I would worship you forever. Worship is a strange word for lament but it's been 1856 days and I still greet the dawn on my knees.