in those days we were all grit
and computer screen grime
nails too far out from the hardwood floor

the last time we kissed the car was in drive
and I wondered if we had
anything still

exhilarating until
fingers burnt on blown out tires
nose bleeds in the morning
novelty by the mouthful

you’re destruction,
that’s holy in hindsight
I re-scratch your patterns in my back
lick the old twists of your tongue
in the beginning, you said
you’d leave me whole
I itch for anything you left undone.