Collision Weather

Don’t make it soft.
Make it matter.
Make it sharp enough
that even the stars
flinch.

The clock gives its last breath.
Kiss me like that—
like the air itself
is about to choose sides
and leave us
with none.

I don’t need comfort.
I need collision.
I need your hands like earthquakes,
your mouth like a prayer
no god wants to hear.

We were never meant for peace—
but for fire
and ash that won’t rinse off,
and the kind of love
that only glows brighter
when everything else
goes dark.

This isn’t about tidy endings.
This is about making the ending
feel like us.

Say my name
like you’re trying to tattoo it
on the moment
before it disappears.
Say it like it’s the only word
you’ve ever truly meant.

And when the ceiling grout
begins to snow,
when the sirens wash the walls red,
when there’s nothing left but the echo
of what we were—

let your lips be the last thing
I believe in.

Kiss me
like the exit signs are melting—
your mouth, the last lit thing.