Your Girlfriend as a Weapon of Mass Destruction

Photo of an unmade bed. They’ll call her Big Bertha, they’ll cover her skin with paintings of pinup girls that you will finger-trace in bed, tell her they’re not like us anyway, tell her they’ll never see you coming, and she will roll away from you in bed at night, cold back to you, tears shimmering metallic in the moonlight, and you will run your hand over her shoulder-swell, say I know, I know, but how could you possibly, and she will pull herself away from you, far as she can, and the sound of her breath will be rocket-fall on a distant, sleeping city.