honey, we are going down in history

your skin fills my fingernails. i am the greatest sculptor of the 21st century; the way i carve symmetrical ridges and statuesque patterns into the pressure of your flesh. of your heartbeat pounding like drums through my ribcage, spliced between fragments of sharp oxygen intake. our tongues are smudges of watercolor. pure prismatic streaks dampened on this canvas of curves in our mouth. brush over me. desperate painting. hands tied with satin; this is a fashion trend, this is a culture stake. this is the feeling of charcoal irises burning me and white chalk eyes just blending me and black ink eyelashes sketching me; this perfect stare, this arsonist's dream. we are the ruinous artists with xray eyes.  we are the free-falling magnets in a glass full of sand.  we are the only people alive in this world- in this second, in this bed- where we lie and kiss like we will fall apart. all we have is this moment, these six minutes of biting your lower lip. all we have is this instant in which perfect strangers with analog watches guide each others' hands to aesthetic masterpiece.

is it worth it to love someone you can only wake up to by chance?