when every day you get the wind knocked out of you

and you go almost a whole afternoon without it

and you think

“maybe not this time”

but then I clock you again, right on schedule


and I say sorry before I even do it

and you think

“maybe she means it this time”

but the air is already being pushed from your lungs


and I have you convinced it’s your fault

and you think

“maybe I deserve it this time”

but you apologizing for my blows only makes me hit harder


when the last thing I ever say to you only serves to press into your bruises


then we’ll be even.