Nick & Nora, Sid & Nancy.

You say that this form of love is the best
because it is violent, because it takes your heart
into the backyard and shoots it out of its misery.
This form of love is ours,
we carve initials into the skin of our backs like tree bark
and clench our teeth together
and you still want to know why I spraypainted the side
of your mother’s house with red paint
but that’s not the point.
We are the bits of sand left at the bottom of bathtubs
in hotels along the northwest coast.
We are shooting up and shutting down
and sticking our heads out of sunroofs yelling
obscenities at passing trailers
and the sun beats down overhead, underfoot.

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