If love is a fire,
this is a funeral pyre;
ashes falling
like nuclear winter.

Like a blowtorch,
*** had soldered us together--
I'm too paralyzed by fear
to hope for something more.

Only in the black of night do we see each other.

We barely speak
outside the foul-mouthed foreplay
and passionate epithets exchanged
in our sweat-soaked moments
of collective agony.

Like so much of my life,
this has to hurt to feel good.

A smack on the *** must suffice
when a kiss on the lips can **** you.

I don't dare look at her face.

There's so much I say
in spite of myself—
A litany of confessions
in my expressions.

Not that she would notice--
her eyes are outside,
aimed at a horizon I can't see.

We share this silence
because it's the only thing
either of us still cherishes.