It all ends
for my parents
leotard stretching over bust,
she sends vibrations under his flesh,
a gnawing reality that hurts so bad
it feels sublime,
a sadistic paradise of lust,
vision, risk.
they find each other there,
orgasmic shapes entangling limbs,
destroying, rebuilding
fucking.
his midnight blue insides catch
a glimpse of dawn,
her orange flying fire
feels the weight of an undertow,
an anchor.
this must be love.
luminous babies with sapphire eyes
emerge from bellies,
membranes growing between bodies,
cells duplicating,
they become one,
yet other.
distant compared to these entities
who replicate their DNA,
faces mimicking younger silhouettes,
redemption reeking
from their morning breath
as they crawl into bed
and make late morning last till night.
this is what love feels like.
little arms trusting,
impervious to the wrath
of grating pursuits,
searching for dissonance to all that starchy,
suffocating happiness.
still their smiles reflect the softness
of starlight dancing
on water,
still they grip with delicate naivety,
onto his hand,
her breast,
clinging fiercely.
they need and need,
and need,
then leave.
it all ends,
fragmented pieces of self
now sitting in piles
across the kitchen floor,
and bedroom,
and hallways of memory.
it is over,
strings fraying from the edges
of all that was
and is always there,
caught in the grit between
wooden panels on the living room walls.
he sits in the
pregnant darkness
of a new moon.
she flies again,
anchored no more.