It is a measured response to a boundless tragedy.
Inflamed with emotional fires that can’t be put out, we break bread with fate, sharing stories of who influenced who the most. Free will chimed in whenever it wanted to, letting us know it was still a thing. I buried them both in a time capsule so I could live in the now. Though, when you bury something in a time capsule, and live in the now, aren’t the contents always fresh? Before my expiration date, I wanted to be used in the finest recipe. You were the dish I would be perfect on top of. So I lay there, touching your surface, imparting my scents and savory tastes, infusing your skin with my essence. When I tasted you, nothing more needed to be added. Everything we ever wanted was there. We never measured the ingredients. It was all freehand, according to what felt right. We served ourselves, filling each other up and leaving plenty of room for dessert. We tasted the sweet sensations of confectionary delights, only pausing to wash it down with ambrosia and honey from our mouths. We feasted with our eyes on one another’s souls, sensitive palates discerning sensuous delicacies. We writhed in the delicious agony of extraordinary pleasures, partaking of each other until completely satiated.
Still, we hungered and thirsted for each other. This intensity was nothing to be afraid of. We danced on the head of a pin with angels. Staring into one another’s eyes, we were too occupied to count them. Our fires played together. Our passion cooled us with a white heat. Our shadows were not available in stores.