we fight like suicide bombers, intent
on destroying everything just
to make a point. hand-painted dishes from Hong Kong
figurines of children in lederhosen from Holland
a collection of German drinking steins
cascade into an unsalvageable puzzle-piece pile of
ankles, bonnets, houses with pointed archways
and heavy silver handles. We wreck

everything within reach
grind cat food into the Persian rug under
the weight of our twisting bodies, collect
skin beneath our fingernails, rip out
fistfuls of hair
crunch teeth against bone.

When you’re dead, I will forget you.
I will roll the hand-knotted Persian rug up around your body
drag you out to the construction site across the street
hurl you into the dumpster full of broken
cinder blocks. If you win

I don’t give a shit what you do with me.