Eve wanted Adam and Adam wanted Eve,
so the only plausible explanation for all this
is that sometimes desire is stronger than one thinks.
I still have your plastic vampire teeth that you wore on Halloween
at age 12. I was a witch; you pretended to drink my blood
on your grandmother’s front porch underneath the street lights.
Seven years later and I still have the bruises on my neck.
Frida Kahlo once wrote, “I love you more than my own skin”
to Diego Rivera.
So last night I sat down at my computer and typed out
the simplest letter to you I could think of.
“When you strip me down to the bones like a paring knife
all I want to do is be torn apart by you,” I wrote,
and stuck it on your desk with an onion on top for a paperweight.
Let’s disappear.
Sometimes our scars illuminate one another in the dark
like candles, and we cup their light in our palms
and blow it into one another’s mouths.
Your kisses are spiderbites
that make me wonder if something is growing beneath the skin.
Rilke believed in the destroyer;
I believe in the destroyer and the destroyed. Neither of us
will make it out alive.
But even Adam and Eve had to eat that poisonous apple
so they could find out what love tasted like.