apocalypse out there. here,
endless wheels, sparks; pockets
of restrained & segmented light.
lovely ways you defy me. best
moments, always, you on top,
when the world ends a little
bit. warmth between lovers
can never be unnatural. nor
can hostage-taking, or a healthy
regard for oblivion. it's all
that's left in common between
us & them: twisted limbs. our
mouths move like theirs:
flips, bites. our movements
prefigure the same ends:
consummated peace, mediated
silence, "deliberate hebetude."
we're w/ them as a necessary
antithesis. they can't see us.
they never could. it's left to
us to make a balance, if we can.
we'll need nothing less than luck.
first appeared in melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks
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