My head rested gently upon your shoulder, Amidst the kitchen's warmth, in an intimate embrace.
You spoke of Abramović and Ulay's artful love affair, While I listened, entranced, with a silent prayer.
As the water simmered, poised to reach its peak, I absorbed each word, feigning understanding.
Your gestures, a symphony, as you traced the scene, Fingers dancing, in a love unseen, an intimate dance just for me.
I pondered, as your touch lingered on mine,
Was our love akin to theirs, a complex design?
Filled with art and impediment, like a tangled thread, Were you showing me their image, with secrets unsaid?
Was it a subtle warning, a silent plea to flee? Or a gentle nudge towards what must be?
As you held me close, your grasp firm and tight, I wondered if our end was nearing, in the dimming light.
Your fingers, reluctant to stray from my skin, A silent testament to the love we'd once been.
Yet even as you checked the stove's steady flame, I sensed the hesitance, the unspoken claim.
For the music played softly, a melancholy tune, Unheard by my ears, yet felt in the room.
Unbeknownst to me, we began a slow dance, The tender steps of a breakup's advance.
So we swayed in silence, to the rhythm of a heart's lament, Each step a farewell, in love's testament.
In the dance of love's end, we found our song, Unraveling slowly, where once we belonged.
