Morning coffee on a Sunday when
We don't go to church. We never do.
We will paint a still life of the stillest life
When time cannot be kept; it can only be seen.
And the dust will gather, as dust it ought to do.
It will cover us, monochromatic,
But skin is dust too. And so we wait and wait
And bombs will drop and Earth will shake but we
Will not be taken as we sit on the end of the world
Together, morning coffee in hand as the sunlight
Bounces off your skin in the most perfect way.
Nothing exists outside of us, or if it does
We will not open our eyes to it. Dust will settle,
And we will settle that we will be dust together someday.
