I think that everything made by

The hands of my creator will disappear

With me:

Water, fire, earth, air

And only language will remain.

You and I will never cease dreaming

And the end of our all dreams

Will arrive us at the place

where we first started.

Time, being so voracious is

The swallower of worlds—

It has already half- eaten the mind

Beyond renewal;

The other side

Decayed like a fruit, you split

Open only to find the insides

Have been hollowed out by

White worms.

You think death is the

Cessation of time.

But, you will outlast like language

Which is Arbor glyphs carved into living trees

In case, if we ever forgot our names

We will remember it’s shapes and symbols.

We, endlings,

Will be buried where the earth

Meets our unkissed blue lips

Where our throats are etymologies,

Words effacing and reforming, into

A language that transcends:

Water.

Fire.

Air.

But, for now in this imperfect world,

you are the retrievable

memories on the flashcard

We call a mind.

You are the poem I have written inside of me

You are mixed in with my mother’s blood,

Feeling the walls I touch

In the unfathomable darkness,

Becoming a shadow to my kinetic movements,

You make the feral animal in my heart surrender,

And slowly knife it up.