PTSD

Back then your purple heart pumped
boozy, coke-crazed blood
through your veins
into your hands
until they clenched into fists
that hit
that hurt me.

Back then you were a
machete swinging dick with
Nam infused fits
of fright and
sweat-soaked
nights of flashbacks.

Back then I ducked and dodged
and stayed sober
when you would not.
Your purple heart
left purple marks on me
forever.

Now here you are again
that by-passed heart
skipping beats when you see my face.
Every breath you take is exhaled
with honey,
baby,
sweetie.

Now your open hands reach
toward my face
to caress my crepe-paper cheek
and they beg forgiveness.

But even now
I have to fight the urge
to flinch.