Cowboys at Dusk

A poem by Wanru Zhao

Devil With Cigar by Alex Foxton

we always knew it would end like this:
       you. me. the cold weight of a revolver in my shaking hands.
              you. me. a lead bullet lodged in your back.
			you. me. the growing bloodstain on your sweat-soaked shirt.

a wisp of smoke curls into the night sky
	& i can’t love you any less.
it’s too late to wish you would stop looking at me like that. 
i wish i could say that i’m sorry.

so, in the end, you were right:
	it was inevitable that
		love would destroy us.
but it’s okay. 
i forgave you a year ago when
	we danced together in that bar after midnight;
                 our bodies filled 
with light /  blood / & the sharp taste of gunpowder.
	your face above mine, 
                        haloed by the yellow glow of the flickering lanterns.
		mistakes, made in the dark.

except we keep doing it even though
	we know it’s wrong. so think of this as a favor.
		if it makes it easier for you to forgive me.

because now it’s just 
	you and me.
		a boy and his lover.
			a man and his murderer.
you. me. that scarlet red stain, right over your heart.
	a dying man at my feet—
		neither of us, forgiven.

only us & the dying rays of the setting sun. 
             & the creeping chill of the evening cold.
             & the things we say in the dark.

& this is how it ends:
      a gun-that-isn’t-a-gun in my hand 
            & a bullet-that-isn’t-a-bullet in your back—
both of us,
             still 
                                        in love.

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Wanru Zhao (she/her) is a high-school poet based in the Bay Area, California. Her work has been recognized by Bitter Melon Review, Fleeting Daze, and Kaleido Zine.

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