two lovers discoursed on decay, their senses now in disarray, their brains, and their bodies, satisfied in the same, but differently exhaustive way, post death, there’s nothing left to say, action is and was their only play, they drift through the undetermined ether like a pair of wounded osprey, what’s left but to grab on tight, like Kong’s mitt once wrapped around Faye Wray, Nostradamus?, even he couldn’t have predicted this day, the way they lay, intertwined like clenched hands at pray, the universe wouldn’t have believed him anyway, now, questions linger, and there are prices to pay if they stay, if they recast the array, jump into an interlocked fray, confused looks allay but it is fear that reigns, that pains, that drains, that sustains the moment for all time, places meaning on the crime, washes away the conjured grime, now indivisible, some say prime, I say unprimed, raw, bare, reckless and without care, their eyes speak and their mouths stare, yes makes them shake, but no means goodbye, and goodbye just isn’t fair…