The Masochism Tango

In his dream, I wore a pint of blood,
a necklace he carved for me.
My zombie eyes grabbed hold of his heart
But buckshot blasted my brain.

Then he dreamt my tongue leaked,
poisoning my mouth even as I spat
blood against wind, splattering my face.
My laughter and teeth stained.

I dreamt of him in his combat boots
Landmines at a gas station
Propane horses exploding
in our wake, but we still had time.

War painted, he lobbed grenades
at my blackened toenails,
fell to his knees as my limbs
showered down around him.

In the waking world, dreams played
out, as his real love for me expired,
bare-backed on the railroad tracks
When he swapped our canteens.

- For K.T.