we were all chatter and woodsmoke,
white wine in the sun-
age is a number slid from his tongue (to mine) and
(my whole world was rewritten that summer)
(his) touches (our) kisses (my) skin
moved with a rhythm, and age was a number
simply that, and no more
(though my number was small)
we felt safe for a while, then hidden,
then trapped.
age is a number slid from my tongue to his skin,
(from his skin to my thighs)
slid between us like sweat
(like a mantra)
weaving saliva-salt spells
(his) touches (our) kisses (my) skin
moved with a rhythm, and age was a number
simply that, and no more
(though his number was great)
we felt safe for a while, then hidden,
then trapped.
(then we were gone)

If the sun was to burn out right now, it would take nine minutes before it reaches the earth.
Nine minutes before the world ends
Nine minutes before we all die.
If you knew that, if you knew that you were dying, how would you spend those nine minutes?
Would you apologize for breaking my heart, or leading her on?
Would you scream my name while standing on top of a building, or would you scream hers?
Would you run to me, or run to her?
How would you spend those nine minutes?

We talk in emojis
21st century style you know
Our conversation wraps
A few moments past dawn

He reports every second on the gram
Almost as if that’s his beau
Before exchanging good morning texts
He says Insta Fam hello  

And when we do get intimate
It just doesn’t feel right  
He goes on to publish
She’s my Aphrodite

Oh I want to be teleported
To the age of billet doux
Just two love birds
On a hilltop with a great view

So on a fine Monday morning
I told him what I really want
He said it much like a warning
That the Stone Age is long gone.