Sitting up in M.'s bed with her
already awake and watching
Good Morning America as
the day rises like a loaf
of bread. My love's in love
and I have the teethmarks
to prove it. Our bread is gold
in Samashki village where the days
only hang, like ghosts forced
to reenact their demise,
and the villagers that remain
love their husbands and wives
so much they risk their own
lives to gather up the blown-
off chunks of flesh and bone
and try to pat them back in
place less gently than I tug
at love's nipple with my teeth.
