This night
the lights going off for the last time
your clothes become witnesses to the bloodletting on the bed
the sheets suicidal in how their limbs twist around our uncoiled hunger
dying to strike every exposed part that is swollen with desire.
Is it not pain we lust for; that sweetness on the teeth of pleasure?
If we wake up tomorrow to an empty house
the sun waiting to show us how much of the world has shrunk
the silence clinging to the dust like sweat
we will pick our empty pockets from the laundry basket.
At the basketball court
where boys learn to fly
to break the concrete with their laughter
we will entwine our empty hands into each other
to catch all the breeze we be shooting
wander like clouds
eating & drinking each other until we are hit by too much life.
Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)