First snow
falling
    on the half-finished bridge.

Your eyes were a familiar town,
A ghost town I call home

The first time we kissed,
We tasted soil in each other's mouths,
We both smelled fire
And felt burning when our fingertips touched

We had dreams of a natural disaster –
The rainfall of ash and pumice
People screaming, temples collapsing
And we woke up remembering
What buried us

We lay in bed
My bones on your bones,
My skin against your skin
My hands shook like an earthquake
I asked you, "Did we not die like this?"
You kissed me, unafraid,
"Were we not born from this?"

Split second friendly fire,
Shield yourself from false desire.
You wake up with eyes bruised from a sleepless night.
You think of him and your last fight.
The empty spaces in your bed dances to his shape,
close your eyes, cover your ears,
attempt a futile escape.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------


You wake up to a text message. You don't have to guess who it's from, the moment you read it is when positivity caves in. Suddenly it's as if the tornado from the night before was nothing but a mere gush of wind.

"Good morning I'm so sorry baby."

You expected him to say that. He always says that. An all too familiar cycle. You smile a bit and delay your reply, as if to make him think you don't care.

"I'm sorry too."