She waged a silent war
on his smile
some mornings.

Because she knew
--if he tried--
he could grasp her
by those white flags.

And all too easily
she'd surrender.

There were microcosms at stake
each time they met--
tiny worlds obliterated
by every hasty touch.

They were fools.
Inherently flawed
and playing God.
Fighting their own insignificance.

But their premeditated destruction
was all-encompassing
so they, too,
fell through the cracks.

Stunned in the nucleus
of the microcosm we'd created,
I watched you
as you ceased to be what I knew
or wanted to know.

I waited
as you flew off the handle
of the door you were clutching
forever leaving;
always I shook
as you felt tears
I never cried
on your shoulder
and turned back
to the life you promised
you’d lead.

Promised.
I never wanted
that from you.
I never craved forever aloud
or begged for a guarantee.
I only wished for today
and tonight
and now. Not later.
So leave.

Grasp that handle.
It’s your only anchor to the here and now,
because I know you.

I know the beautiful words that fall
with certainty
won’t be surfacing tomorrow.  
I know the blood that pulses
between us
isn’t rhythmic all the time.
We’re unharmonious
in these evolved states.
But we fought ourselves down
to our most basic,
and we could've stay if we believed
in the primal integrity of yes.
But we can’t
and we don’t.

So we recant every sound we made together,
every motion that moved us
however briefly.
We implode.

We could've been a supernova,
but this,
this is a blackhole.

The sounds of worlds colliding
became their theme.
The electric cottonballs
of supernovas lit
their dwindling path
and they gulped down words
--like "hope" and "promise"--
to soothe their burning tongues.

Two bodies falling tangentially.
They were born
haphazardly and lived
and ceased
with each accidental brush
of their hands.

With their world-calloused hands,
they bore heartbreak.
With singed tongues,
they gave pain a name.
With storming eyes,
they eclipsed the stars.

But with their ears,
they heard tomorrow.

He had a name
to do something,
but he chose
a pseudonym instead.

Forsaking the syllables
that bound
him to history,
he protected
her vacillating pride.