I wonder if you know
how often I pass
that church door where we kissed
(and kissed, and kissed)

Or how I'd desecrate
a thousand more
just to do it again
(and again, and again).

It feels now like a deal with the devil,
and too good, it lasted as long as one would.
For rapturous blasphemy, for ludicrous bliss,
I sold all my fears for just one shot at this.

I wonder if you know
that we are our own devils,
that nothing's contracted
that can't be redacted

That we spin our own fates
and can re-thread our revels -
Did you know? But you must,
(you must, you must.)

Yet I'm sure that you won't
and that all that we built
is crumbling, returning,
To dust, to dust.