I’m no fan of gore
nor button mashers,

but when you speak to me
as if from pixelated reality

get over here and finish
me, I equip my knit cap

and fight sub-zero temperatures
to be under sheets with you

in all the fatalities
of the heart. We die

many times in each
other’s arms

inputting
the proper combinations.

We are reckless
when we love– we attack,

we defend, I watch
the blood flush out of us

asking if you will love me
always. When that lands,

I’m finished.

(originally published in Stickman Review, Fall 2023)