I hear
her lips are gateways,
whose shriveled cracks
coated with
fluorescent white paint,
never expose their imperfections.

I hear
his hands catch fire with her’s,
making even the wind
forget
it’s cool breeze.

I hear
her giggle is a pulsing beat
in his eardrum;
it echoes,
blocking all murmurs from the world.

I hear
his lingering eyes
whisper secrets
with a single glance.

I hear
they raced against the clock,
she,
faster,
hit the twelve first.

I hear
he became a casualty
of her pumping heart,
which was a pistol,
shooting bullets stronger than metal,
but of a so called
adoration.