improbable romance 8

you trickled heroin into condoms and swallowed them
I packed 40 years of television into a single night
we both exploded
they flushed us off the tiles with a fire hose
all that was left were the memories
streaming down the gutters of time
beaming out to the constellations
it’s quiet out there
your bits and mine
mingled diluted divine
evaporating with the square of the distance
since 1999