your spine is the equator 
between the two sides of you 

it is the bridge 
that pain likes to cross often, 
it is a land full of 
phantom touches of long gone fingers 

you say it breaks you in half 
this very thought of love 

but i live for the storm that rises 
in your wild eyes from the drunken dream
of what it would be like 

so my hands trace across
your equator, 

and this city of bones crumbles beneath my fingertips,
our destruction awakes with the sound of 
the softest sigh


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