Avalanche

The tears of 27 years throw down your hands and make love to me. Be my companion in the setting sun. Lonely and adrift out here amongst the deaths of intimacy with your melting ice cream. I'm all yours and set me on fire before going. Crying out and running out of time from somewhere deep down from the place that no place in polite conversation. Horrible things do not seem the problem; it is the absence of good things that is the problem.