Heat death of the universe

Find me sitting under the apple tree

that concussed Newton

and worrying with my tongue

at the canker forming 

above my right incisor.

I lick the ooze pouring from that sore

and taste the iron and bile that 

strangles my dreaming throat

and wrenches me

from songs and poems

of love and glory.

Your hand is in mine.

Fires crash around us

as the stars have finally lost their fuel

and begin their descent from the heavenly

void that beckons us home

My hand perspires in yours, 

and the sound of screaming plasma 

overcomes the chorus of the coming night

and envelopes us in a sonic afghan,

stitched by your hands from the fabric of my memories.

And when our eyes shift from their cacophonous 

songs,

and the world breathes her last sigh of defeat,

we embrace.

Because we know, just once, in this nightmare turned daydream,

that we aren't alone

and that we love

in tandem

forever.