Death Called, We Answered

by Caseyrenée Lopez

                 I scratched your skin, down the length of your back,

     feeling it give and break apart, cutting so deep

                 that my fingertips are bloodstained.

     You released a hollow whimper, moan.

                 It’s the terrible pain of the terrible pleasure that drives me,

     that drives us, into these depths, into these casual courtly gestures.

                 It’s the despondent horizon that cradles our fleshy desires,

     a play on reality, giving in to the crushing resentment created in life.

                 Overwhelmed and collapsed together,

     colliding into a gamma ray burst, erupting,

                 our skin melting to form a singular molecular bond,

     forever unbroken until the radiation leaks through our pores,

                 infecting every cell within 100km.

                 But it’s not enough. And it’ll never be enough

     to contaminate every ounce of your life with parasitic passion.

                 It only results in pure destruction,

     in utter destruction.