We fit.
Like a pair of well worn shoes
or a breezy sundress,
We fit.
We fit.
Meteorites of fire fall from the sky, but what is it they represent?
The dynamite of our (love) affair threatens me.
An accomplice to murder, pre-meditated theft,
“why so much violence,” he asks.
I do my part, he does his.
It’s this sense of simplistic humanity I adore.
Our imperfection makes for an intensified state of fragility and the difficulty of cleaning up the mess we’ve made is impossible to predict.
But since when have you liked predictability?
Surprises are so much more fun.
Our (love) is like gunpowder.
“you’re beautiful,” he says.
“for now,” I answer.
for now