It's funny how much we ate —

we couldn't stop.

First dinner, then desert,

then the plates and the table.
 
At the show, she ate the stage,

I swallowed the microphones.

Back at the room we ate the chairs

the shower and the television.

Naked, breasts poised like the dark mystery

at the center of faith, she devoured the bed —

nothing left.
Behind her, arms around her victorious stomach,

I knew what it would take to fill us up.

Nothing short of a falling chunk of sun,

something nuclear come to love us clean,

burn our shadow into the wall just like this.