Even in close proximity,
heat transferring from our bodies seemingly
to the room
we heave, as though in need -
turn to face one another and see
that there is only a reason to hide, that of just the sweet melancholy
travelling between us like a meteorite, skidding across the skies;
Burning up, it turns to ashes and bathes us in black,
but he glows white.
Loyalty and faith grow like a sprung field of flowers in his eyes;
Dark, brown and alive.
Lips stained like a pregnant shade of chai
perhaps with his blood and perhaps with mine.