What if the world ends,
I ask you, imagining a Hollywood
romance — you, grasping

my hand like a hero, firm
but moved, on some blue mountain,
the ocean creeping over us

like a cartoon monster, all
chaotic menace. Our love would
save us, I want you to say,

our kisses — bigger than god.
But the dryer is too loud; you
can’t hear me, and I know

when it happens it will be
like this, standing the way
I am now: my hands in your

back pockets, both of us in
our oldest underwear – the
elasticless ones. And waiting

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