On Cúl De Sac street where we first met,
with tongues tracing the architecture of the other’s lips,
eyes with x-Ray searching the other’s soul for answers
to questions that were raised like hopes only to be dashed.
Our hands clasped tight like braids around the other finding the Hollows and curves.
That was when I felt it! A lump in my neck.
A beauty for a face and a sponge for a heart,
taking in everything but holding on to none.
The catastrophe that would ruin this beautiful hollow
cannot be imagined in metaphors.
It is fear!
You are a swarm of hyperboles surrounded by a bubble waiting to pop.
I am here just recovering from a recoil of your undertones.
From your bosom love sold for a penny on the fallen autumn leaves
and your eyes are a cinema for eternal lust played only in X-D.
Your lips dealt no mercy to trust and truth.
Our story is a counterfeit of the pads on your comely bosom and behind.
Here, now at where nothing begins and remains, is buried deep our memories.
A ragged pile of treasure clothed with the dust of guilt and self.
I wish the red skin-piercing wind of the harmattan
to suck you into a vortex at the heart of a desolate desert
and a reflection of this day eternally appears before you.
Be gone to a land where the sun never shines.
On Cúl De Sac street, heartbreak taught a lesson to lust.