Sometimes
She felt his skull could crack under the passion in her fingertips 
And wouldn't that be beautiful
To end here, in the immediacy of desire
And wouldn't that be kinder?
Than the drawing out of this pain of inevitability 
The guttural ache
Before the final crack
The splintering, not of bone
But of two hearts 
Prised apart by the fingernails of realisation 
That their shattered fragments can never make each other whole.