A violent non-being

Sun falls from the sky in chunks, 

marbling the ground in a light so dull 

that it becomes darkness. 

The air thick with insignificance,

I watch the color of the world drain to black.

A nothingness that even God can’t name: oblivion.

I cry for the lost culture, we cry for the silence,

a shared concert of only listening. 

Cold language wakes a quiet mind

caught between coherence and chaos.

I clutch onto the heat of your body against mine, 

a fever of joy. Comfort that comes only second to dawn,

its promised being, its vow to breath. 

We hold the seeping darkness 

in the palms of our hands, tracing ignorance on each other's skin,

misplacing a tomorrow that we don’t want to arrive. 

Clinging onto our reflections tighter, we crave an existence

within one another’s arms:

tethered touch. 

Together, us, together, yes.

We dangle off of buildings that we cannot name, 

our necks taut with fear. 

I watch the world shrink to solace, pin pricks of recall, 

as flashes of juvenescence color the cityscape a shade of pure light. 

You stare at the blacks of your eyes, 

anonymous existence.

The blood between us drains to our cheeks, 

drunk off dizziness and the scent of rain. 

Faux blushing, bodies swollen with innocence. 

Surrounded by dusk, a gentle blanket of nightfall,

the shadow of sheer nothingness, a violent nonbeing.

We sit on spoken meaning. Molten truth.

We are squatters on the roof of nature, a diet of only living.