how explosives are made

you craddle
this grenade
within the heat
of your hands
like it's some jesus.

you guard
this grenade
with every ounce
of
fight you have
in you,
like it's your only
religion

but every once in awhile
you meet someone,
and the conversation
is good.
you are distracted
by their shine,
and all you want to do
is hover
in their shimmer.

nothing else exists.

but it's then,
when you forget
about that grenade
resting in your hand.

and you notice the pin,
dangling,
on the other person's
finger.