We said that when the apocalypse came
we would be as one, hands held tight against the darkness
now the end of the world is here
and you are not
no matter how I reach across the chasm of the street
sixty feet and 10,000 miles
I cannot touch your hand
I cannot feel your lips on mine or
your breath on my face
I cannot feel your body next to mine
I cannot taste you on my lips
I’m aiming for the stars but ending up
in the gutter
staring at the filth and the sludge and the crust
I imagined swinging our feet over the edge of the world
as the end rolled in waves of dispassionate tides
so I’m alone as the world ends
and my toes dip casually into the entropic unimportance
of the cataclysm and your empty words
still I wait for the touch of your hand
the taste of your lips
and that promise
Repudiate
