What I cannot give you is the impossible,

lust of a virgin,

tears of a crocodile,

tooth of a dinosaur, 

that lived before the tectonic plate of India crashed into Eurasia.

Silent shimmering of the Earth the moment

before a volcano’s eruption.

The tender heart, frozen 

by rainwater in December.

The tongue of fire the second 

the sun hits the Earth.

Cracking, screaming, 

shivering.

A world overflowing with

laments of women.

Mountains fall into pieces, and 

crust collapses beneath our feet. 

Stars have their destined fate,

well-written centuries before 

you and I were born.

There is nothing that

I can give you 

before the apocalypse hits

but a kiss,

light as the wings of a dragonfly,

on your flinching lips.