“we wait for something beautiful then we destroy it”
Stuart Buck
lying in the inch of fairy floss snowfall in the car park
of the abandoned hardware store but we don’t feel the cold
oh no, we are boiling mercury in our veins and the beautiful
thing is that the sky isn’t falling, we are soaring up to meet it
so I kiss your hand as we hit the screaming brilliance head on
becoming fractured perfection for those endless seconds but
oh god, we wake as only dust on the pavement and your frostbitten
fingers curl up as a dying plant in a desert of unanswered prayers
