Magnoscope 1.0

I'm cleaning my boyfriend's pistol when he says something that pisses me off
(again).
Perhaps it was trans rights, socialism, or homelessness -
about the only thing we agree on is gun ownership.
So when I say pistol, I'm not joking, see, I mean it literally.

In my lap sits a Magnum Revolver, a field-stripped
Smith & Wesson 686 .357
Off to one side, a pair of loaded Sig Sauers are lying
patiently waiting as I scour away.

Proper firearm safety dictates I point the barrel safely aside,
no matter how much he's angering me
or how empty the chamber seems
so I raise only my voice, not my hands.

Nonetheless, his stance becomes a little defensive,
and he tells me about this time a friend went ballistic,
so he locked him in a shed to avoid a more literal incident,
possibly involving... ballistic forensics.

And I think to myself... god!
Dating dudes sucks!
Cuz Twenty One Pilots and my ex girlfriend both underestimated us,
it's not just our hands, it's our tongues!

If I said "domestic" ----
and let if hang in the air, what springs to mind?
Does it rhyme with ----
"silence", the same that stymies solving the crime?

Now I'm tryna explain all this to him,
and I feel some kinship with my ex cuz when I was filled with ignorance
she had to redefine and justify
but then,
she'd probably feel much more like him
to see me lose my temper again
blast off thoughts I ought to lock within
what can I say - I'm obstinate?
Would ya pass the cleaning kit?

On one hand, I know I would never
unload on him like my brother
explode as if he's my mother
deride him or throw a fist, cuz
inside I now police my mind.

But on the other hand...
I'm clutching a fucking gun
and doing a good impersonation
of a bad person.

But it's ok, I promised I'd never shoot him and we're still friends.
He apologized for being douchey, at least in my head.

When I shared news of what I'd penned,
he asked if I referenced, within
the moment I recollected, back then
a time scars on my arms marked my record
before requesting a loaded weapon (from him) but,
honestly I don't remember.

I've held my life in my hands more times than a gun
the former is boring, but the latter is fun, and
when all's said and done, he gave me the gun...
then left me with one.

The next morning.
he left early for work,
me curled in the mid-morning sun
to awaken incredulous - he was content
with just two guns from under the pillowcase.
And I wonder which would make her more uncomfortable -
being alone with me, or leaving me with even one slug.

But, as crazy as it sounds, I'm doing better.
So, for just a moment, I hold it in my grip,
but not between my lips.
That isn't how you clean a pistol.