give me your coordinates;
I will meet you
and swallow each bullet you possess.


you will watch me
empty your gun-
cough on gunpowder-
drop one piece of metal into a glass.
another,
another.
I will drink your weaponry
like gin on the rocks.
I can be her,
crossed legs at your
foreign bar,
drunk on machinery.

'darling', you'll say,
metallic mouth,
and I with my breath of bullets:
I will suck in my cheeks
and spit out what remains.

someone's death
now but a seed
in your upturned palm.