4/20 Confessions

That night was
Different,
For I felt the same void breeze
Once before in a different place,

And I knew that you
Were too like that place:

Different.

Those shores down the line
Coasting shy from sky to sky

To bring us the currents of
That old breeze, carrying
Familiarly new feelings.
Each sensation,

Every single molecule on my
Hands as they grazed yours
Endured a mini apocalypse
Like my skin went nuclear,

And from then was irradiated
To be a clean slate
Upon which you
Claimed me.

And I was happy then
Even before the rockets burst
To be willful to your
Power, your yield

When you stay your hand
And declare, “bombs away!”

Your mercy and care
All rolled into one night.

Rolled like the joints
We would never touch
When offered at the
Restaurant later that night.

Confessionals are always fun
For me
But as we’ve both found out
Sometimes the truth hurts

Is it worth knowing
All the variables
And what they do
And have done?

What effect might that have
On you? On us?

Are we allowed to endure again
And undergo regrowth?
Turning the soil in our hearts
Over again to let gamma rays

Pierce through to the core
Of every shell-shocked nerve.

The truth hurts like nuclear
Bombs on a day destined

To end this way.

We’ve recovered already, driven
By androids, turned by waves
Further down the shoreline
In stories you weren’t a part of.

Let those rockets fly
And christen the world
In explosions as many
Times as it needs to see

Thermobaric mushroom clouds
Collapsing over you and me.

And after that
I want to feel the ground quake,
Volcanos to shake and tear
Apart their heads and shout

Boiling, vociferous magma
Across the sky,
Trailing ash lit by lightning
While thunder follows.

My confession before the
Apocalypse
So your god can see,
And that I may be absolved,

Is that you have always
Had that effect on me.

I have always walked
In the spirit of your words,
Of dust shadows splattered
Across walls by the force

Of light ripping through
The now-charged particles
Of a human body
Rippling with electricity.

This confession is in
Each doomsday you make me
Feel the weight of
In all the best ways

Because I know somehow
You can bring me back
From the dead with a
Touch and a whisper.

So that night while I
Learned about you, I
Began to stifle my fear
Of memory loss,

Instead focusing on saving
Every moment like it was

My last.

Now focused on making those
Thoughts permanent
And desiring destined-like
Rings to appear on fingers,

And to hope that we can
Pull anything we want
From
Thin air.

Your lips, your lips,
Apocalypse.

This is the truth
That I want to endure.

In every moment I can
Think of being my last,
Every bomb, bullet,
Disaster, starvation

Each thinkable end times,
You’re the one I want

To end time with.

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