NaPoWriMo #13: The Mistake

We could hardly utter it, admit
we tripped over dynamite, fought
a heavyweight champion in disguise,
kissed a woman who turned out to be
a skeleton.  A person would have to
drag it out of us, with a team
of horses, a box of sugar cubes.
Love was not strong enough.  It
bashed itself against our citadel
but we hid our faults in dungeons
where the chains clanked together
in a language it wouldn't recognize.
If only laughter had arrived here.
It could crack a smile out of our
granite faces.  Bodies would start
to break down, chunk by chunk,
each piece containing our shame.
People would grab them, use them
for fuel.  Sadness would light up
the fireplace, the heat spreading
through the house, room to room,
where mistakes become useful,
warming the heart, the limbs, the soul.