Everything is brown.
Dust gives everything a shabby feeling.
It coats everything and transports you
back
in time—or ahead to an apocalyptic future
where nothing green grows anymore.
Dust is time passing.
Evidence.
A surrender to futility.
There's no color anymore.
I am tormented
by my love for you.
It burns me.
It consumes me.
I'm embarrassed.
I really ought to know better by now.
Sparks
and fire
and ice
It burns.
Cohesion doesn't make sense.
This, doesn't make sense.
Cohesion doesn't explain
the delight in longing,
the lust and self-loathing
that loving you brings.
I will die in the fire of all of this. I know it.
It's a dangerous game, loving you.
It burns.
I am burning.
Ashes.
And then the spark,
lights...
And my torment
my love,
begins again.
