You and I (bomb)

promise to fill in the blanks and the stains
on your teeth -
that reckless kind of make-believe.
We'd eat each other if we had to

frame that dirty orgasm or shove
it in
an arbitrary pocket.
We'd eat each other if we had to

wear vital organs on the outside
or choose between burning witches and the books we hate.
We'd eat each other if we had to

dream more words to describe
states of mind
and the juice of a nectarine running down your chin.
We'd eat them if we had to.

The love of being is not enough
to keep you in my bed.
The love of beings is not enough to buy a ticket to Turkmenistan.