The thing is it’s all slipping away even as you peer into the hollow soul of it. If only they would feel the claws of it, too, then maybe they could understand what this feels like. Maybe a conversation or at least the quiet passing of a cigarette back and forth when the desperation really swells like a motherfucker.
Remember when we used to glow like wet sand beneath the moonlight. How you would cover every inch of my body with your burning mouth. You and I, a deserted beach awash in escape, paradise like promises kept in the beating of the heart against the skin. At the center of the blood red rose, into the folded petals swirling softly inward, you follow me. You will follow me, won’t you? Even if we understand each other so well it scares the shit out of both of us. Even in spite of the way my eyes play tricks on me, you in the mirror, you always falling apart.
They make all these bizarre predictions. A soul mate, a twin flame. A balancing act as if there were a point and a counterpoint to a love which claims to encompass everything. The buttercream light of morning melts along the rooftops and the trees. A day awaits, her slick pink tongue out against the blade like a threat, like a nervous breakdown. It’s too much coffee and not a lot to say. It’s a thick book of love poems tossed out in the rain and left for trash.