It has been a while since the continents divided.
It's been a black and white dream since the last time silk ran down my coat of arms.
A concerto of crackles from the fireplace, and still no sound like the breath you gave.
Natural oils engulfed from a freshly lit match, and still no place quite as warm as inside you.
Our minds spoke in swaying motions like a pendulum of sharp wit.
Together, pouring toward the center of ourselves, like boiling water.
We knew we would have to evaporate or overflow eventually. And that was the last time.