It started with a car. They grew up with apologies stuck with dirt under their fingernails, wild rage pyrographed on their ribs, and wars unzipping their spines. Winter made them shake the doubt from their bones, while faceless warriors took hold of their hearts.
When home left its nest hidden between their bodies, they found themselves like castaways on a paper raft. Crimson red waves left sea salt and bitterness on their lips, and hungry beasts plucked their wings from their shoulders.
It started with a fire, and today they still leave embers in their footprints, and taste ashes on the other’s lips. They felt the pull of the sun under their skin, fed galaxies with crumbs of hope, while wars were being fought in their hearts.They were never heroes, never won anything but cracked ribs and despair rolling like water down their cheeks.
It started with blood. They lie with the same mouth they kiss with. They’re a silent hurricane, a quiet storm where rain fills oceans in their veins. Home is two sets of initials, crinkling eyes and two parenthesis framing a secret smile. Stars will burn out, but their hands will always find each other in the dark.
It never started with love. It was never romance. It was loving destruction, worship moaned around their fingers and dangling like a golden idol around a neck. They never knew how to touch without hands, but never needed to.
I forgot your name, you forgot mine,
We are nothing but a growl, ephemeral and deadly.
Blasphemy has never been so tender.