We kiss with tongues as a machete fight breaks out further down the sidewalk. When it snows, and I hold you close and whisper in your ear that I love you, some Mexican kid is having his face peeled off with a boxcutter. As I kiss your eyelids and tell you that no one else could ever come close to how beautiful you are, they cut off his hands and make tourniquets from belts so he doesn’t pass out from blood loss. They want him to feel everything. They want his terror to be absolute. But as we spin in circles aware only of each other’s gazing eyes, his end doesn’t exist, and yet it exists for him. Writhing in a pool of blood waving the stumps of his arms around to stop the butchery, I pull you down an alley and dance as our bodies are engulfed by steam. You could be an angel. You could be God. Whatever you are, there is no one else who makes me feel this way, and as I place my lips on yours, I don’t want there ever to be a day when your taste is far away. The Mexcian kid is dying. Someone’s shoved a knife into his mouth, and although he’s featureless, you can tell by the way he’s thrashing around that he’s in hell. How much longer will he have to suffer? How many more minutes will he have to endure until they cut his throat and he chokes to death on his own blood? Not many I’m sure, but as your eyes leak water that I take away with my kisses, the scent of your breath reminds me of one summer’s day when I was a kid that has never left me. Lying on my back in a field of green grass, the blue sky was endless, and there was no such thing as tomorrow and as my simple heart beat without fear I asked if there would ever be a day when I would meet a girl who felt the same way. There was no answer, but I felt deep inside that there would, and today is that day. This life, it can be so majestic, and yet such majesty is becoming a rarity. This dark globe, it’s growing darker by the hour despite the fire that burns as we kiss until our toes go numb from the cold.