It was a head-on collision without a proper introduction

the way we met.

Certain that it was destiny

pioneered by past lives,

we were children on a tilt-a-wheel

dizzy and in constant revolution.

Adrift in our primal ocean,

sex was elemental—phosphorus

so volatile we ignited without warning;

so inviolate we needed a centrifuge to separate us

You carried me to bed with but one request:

look at me when you come.

After,

you drew me close and I burrowed deeper.

Snug under the soundproof quilt of your chest

eavesdropping on your heart

I kept time with the double beats

from this choicest spot.

I will forgo my wanderings ways, I pledged.

Retire my tap shoes for a step-ball-chained

to a cul-de-sac

But those very words

deprived me of some vital elixir.

Our acrobatics took an anagrammatic turn:

Listen became silent.

In the laboratory incubator, I turned the stethoscope on myself

only to discover that my life-giving surge

had been replaced by a faint pulse

shrouded in a nimbus of grief.

Looking closely, I saw that the shapes

we fashioned from sheets were hollow,

sewn in place by amorous amateurs

who forgot to secure the ends of a thread.

I left you a note and a proxy, realizing

we could share lust, but not a life.