Mortal Kombat

by James Croal Jackson

I don’t like blood
or 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
to be in bed with you

in all the ways
we kill each other, respawn

again and again in each
other’s embrace

entering
the secret codes.

We are reckless
when we love– we strike,

we block, I watch
the life drain from us

wondering if we’ll be
this way forever. When

you nod
it’s finished.