cactus injuries

you were sitting at my desk
as I was trying to reach over you
looking for that gift to wrap
last minute,
like your inscription on the card
like it always seems happens
when we're spending time together
and don't really want to face the world

and of course
(like one of those first coffee dates
when I spilled coffee all down my pants
and nonchalantly cleaned it up
hoping you were still believing I have it all together)
I punched my window cactus
spilling fake desert rocks
and coating my hand, wrist
with cactus spikes

pinching, pricking
I pouted and preened
pulling each little stick out of my skin
turning to you for sympathy
you began one of your explanations
drawn from the categorized rows in your head
this is why it is
the hooks on cactus spikes
something that embeds in your skin
this is why
as I tried to explain to you
that it hurt

and then you saw something
like maybe those times
you look in my eyes
and stop listening to the words I'm saying
and I can't even really mind
but whatever it was
all of your attention was mine

because it's an interesting sensation
when you see that I'm hurt
because the intensity of it scares me
when I see that you would do whatever it took
to stop another cactus
from getting in my clumsy way ever again

you really do mean it
really do you mean it