8 acessos
We held hands on the last night of earth.
Our mouths filled with dust,
we kissed in the fields and under trees,
screaming like dogs,
bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the edge of town
but we knew everyone floated along
the bottom of the river.
So we walked through the waste where the road curved
into the sea and the shattered seasons lay,
and the bitter smell of burning
was on you like a disease. In our cancer of passion you said,
"Death is a midnight runner."
The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards and formed them
into shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the hearts
of the unborn as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.
The few insects skittered away in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked
if you would accompany me in a quick fall,
but you made me realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I rode alone. You said, "The cinders are falling like snow."
There is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty,
bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.
Of blue and grey.
Strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names
in the flesh of the city.
The sun has stagnated somewhere
Beyond the rim of the horizon and the darkness is
a mystery of curves and lines.
Still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward,
and somewhere in the middle in the wilderness
we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.