Dearest.

I had spilt my coffee
on your working table.

The manuscript that you were finishing
flinched, yelled, bled painfully
then stared at me accusingly

doubting your existence which is
gracefully drowning in the fatal glow
of left-overs and world dropping dead.

Perhaps, after a long time,
your heart will take its beat tonight.

As the ocean
sat on your tongue
and waited to flood over me

you've disarrayed the stars
and draped them
on my skin.

My exhausted blouse and your restless jeans
are the sheer reminders
of our unimpeding infinity.

And as I locked
your waist
between my legs

The world quivered
then burst
into a series of flicker and flames.

This is how I shall remember us:
We crave a love so deep
the ocean would be jealous.