We dragged the bodies down the wrong side of the road

And stacked their bones like an exhibit behind museum glass.

I remember our hands were too cold to light our cigarettes

So we held them above the bumper of our redhanded Chevy,

Breathing white air onto our fingers around a campfire of exhaust.

Somewhere down the way a lone bird cried a primal warning.

The ground hummed with distant wheels on gravel moving quickly.

Our lofty shoelaces chained our shoes to our feet; frozen to the scene.

Chewing nails down to skin, wrapping scarves like nooses around our necks-

You were the cops, we were the robbers.

You were the prisoner, we were the jail.

Hands crossed for icy handcuffs though none had come yet

So we tied our frosted breath tight inside our shivering body bags.

"You're gonna die in there,"
He calls down into his heart
but it's comfy between his heartstrings
so I pretend not to hear him.

We took down the Sunday death toll
And laid down to sleep together
but the sound of the freeway rushing past the window
interrupted our dreams that night.

Swollen hands that beat broken hearts
"You're going to die in there"
but my shoe is stuck in the doorway
so I can't seem to leave.

Then he asked if I poisoned his tea.
I told him he was the only poison
I set before my nightstand
and lathered my lips with like balm.

I was drenched in his blood.
But he wanted to pull me out
so he could hold me again
so he could pick out the gravel.

Cleaning his wounds, I asked him to
**** me.
**** me.