There is a window creaking open,
unambiguous yet undefined.
In slips the crisp landscape of our world.
We are a virgin plane,
sketched by the periodic table of our desire.
Follow me with fatal steps towards an inkling of eternity.
Allow a slow lift of spirits, foretelling nothing but beautiful heartbreak.
Part my lips to feed me the sandstone of your eyes.
Carve me into your bones and wait for my voice,
strangled by sex hormones and the concrete tangle of your toes
between mine.
We have no maps or signs, no travel logs or notes compiled.
We brace for wind, breathe in the fire — wild-eyed.
How long before our skies collide?
indeed.