Our lips met
in a cosmic collision,
like the sun and the moon
in an eclipse;
we sensually nibbled,
and ******,
and licked,
and tongued,
and got a taste
of each other's sadness.
I could almost swear
kissing you felt like
drowning and yet,
never wanting
to come up for air.
Our hands were frantic,
like ballerinas
made to dance
under the tune
of insane rock music;
we fumbled
on each other's
zips and buttons,
'til they were
ripped
along with our clothes
and the masks
we wore.
Our skins grazed
in sweat and despair,
like the earth
good-morning-kissed
by the sun
after an entire night
of raining;
we caressed
and clawed on backs;
I was pretty sure
I had glimpse
of your soul,
and you probably
saw a void
where mine should be,
but we let our demons
dance 'til two,
like figure skaters
gliding gracefully
over thin ice
during a winter night.

And I thought it was love.
God, I almost called it love,
I even wished it was.

But darling, it was the bottles on the floor. Probably *****.