Closer and closer still. Boiled blood and ******* bones. Hallowed out the marrow hung on a string around your neck. Crossed like salvation But backed with trumpets like judgement day. Knuckles pronounced like a second language stand on cracked and stained hands but hold nothing. And that old sun is setting future, my love, the future is coming. Bored like teenagers into the meat of our chests are messages cryptic and final. Messages written about us and left by others, cross pollination. Freeform Saturday shopping trips are become the air I live for. You my raison de'tre. Stand back and watch us bleed for the future. His quiet breathing like music between us. Bring on the judgement. Welcome the night. Stand.