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He has conclusion in his hollow eyes

The ending in mind

And he’s got the variations developing at the edge of his limbs

 

So if he were to gently touch the side of my waist as he lay next to me, the words in his mouth wouldn’t explode and he’d think of how volcanos would be overflowing with the pressing of our lips and we’d be ablaze, fiery with desire and reveries that turn and slam and strike against each other lovingly.

 

I wrote him a letter 3 years ago and kissed it till death do us part

 

Later the lava wasn’t a passionate fire but a violent inferno so that if we were to touch we would turn to dust and the wind would spread our now would be kisses beyond the four courners of this place, spreading the death of our love, treating me like an infection.

 

He threw the letter in the trash as he walked downstairs.