They were crazy about each other
and that was the problem.
Everything was meant to be laced
with flames and extravagant passion.

Below the blistering winds of winter
were these lovers wearing nothing but their hearts
and sooner or later they were bound to get burned and scarred,
bruised and confused about the madness they drowned in.

But in that moment,
nothing held truer than his hand in hers
and his eyes full of sincerity
and sweet clarity.  

And I swore they could've burst into flames
if they weren't fused together by their fingers,
as if some magnetic ripple navigated the
thump thump thump

throughout their nerves—
so loud and so prominent it demanded to be heard.
And I heard it, behind the sheaths of snow,
under the overpass and between the bundled bystanders.

They were crazy about each other.

gd