the covers reeked of future snitches that have walked hand-in-hand to faraway plateaus,
though you still lingered around the bedsheet covers and covered yourself up a few times on some sinew.
though even in your clothes that danced in the forefathers of our black hues, black skies and distant melodies.
our rhythms were patterned,
constructed on symphonies that were all for someone else's and not for both of us.

scooting farther though your hair is just a tickle away
we were abounded on this journey, not for love but for mercy
because the Gods inside of us wanted for some sacrilegious handshakes that lasted like never. claymores that we detonated not by mistake but because that's how we work.
we explode, here, there, somewhere and everywhere.

and our fragile remnants, broken bits and irregular jigsaw puzzles weren't patched on our totality
but because on day one He proclaimed that we were too far for Paris' synergy and you could say that, 'we were just lab rats on the name of a pitiful love.'

but, promise me.
that on the Hereafter of our ethereal love that never wanted plastics to seek,
for cigarette sticks burning with menthol spices to speak,
that we'd never allow hotel rooms to touch and witness another horrid circumstance as this.
because we shrugged our shoulders at the lobby of our tinkles and solitaire games that 'we'd please,'

no one but us.

well, the Gods lied.
and they haven't spoken any words of their own.
maybe, they died somewhere on the coasts of later yesterday rides
because we were too fast.