Still Warm, Still Ours, Already Gone

Let’s stay up all night and break each other’s hearts,
like wolves gnawing at the same bone,
teeth flashing in the dark,
not out of hunger, but out of dare.
The clock will stagger forward,
bleeding hours across the floorboards,
while we trade confessions like venom,
sweet and burning in equal measure.
Not gently, not with sighs,
but like hurricanes colliding over the same ocean,
waves tearing at the sky,
lightning splitting the marrow of the night.
We’ll drink the hours raw,
swallowing time until it chokes us,
and every word will be a blade
we sharpen on each other’s throats.
Your laughter will sound like glass shattering,
my silence like a cathedral collapsing,
and still we’ll dance in the rubble,
barefoot, bleeding, triumphant—
because ruin is the only music we trust.

Let’s stay up all night and break each other’s hearts,
not with cruelty,
but with the tenderness
that makes cruelty unnecessary.
I’ll memorize the shape of your silence,
the way your hand hesitates
before it lets go of mine.
We’ll laugh too loudly,
kiss like we’re drowning,
and confess truths
we should have buried.
The room is dim, the air thick with candle smoke,
our shadows taller than we are,
already mourning what still breathes.
The bed becomes an aisle,
the sheets a narrow road of white.
We walk it without moving,
pallbearers of a devotion
we can no longer carry.
Your mouth delivers eulogies disguised as kisses,
my silence folds itself into hymns.
Every glance is a wreath,
every touch a nail.

Let’s stay up all night and break each other’s hearts,
laying devotion down like a body no one will claim—
until morning arrives to find us standing
at the grave of what we swore would never die.
And when it arrives
not radiant, but sterile,
like hospital light on unwashed skin,
we will stand beside the grave we dug in whispers,
watching love lowered into the ground,
still warm, still ours,
already gone.

Let’s stay up all night and break each other’s hearts,
and call it the burial of love itself.
The night is our funeral.
love is the body we bury.
Love, buried alive.
Because what is love,
if not a beautiful demolition?