love poem for the end of the world

at the edge of space and sky

there's no crying

only silent rays

of a burnt sun

the blood crusted scorch

of a bruised earth

rushing up, your head kissing

what was once concrete now crusading

magma. brick buildings and hollow steel

mills still stand so lonely

in their midwest reverie

almost like prophecies etched

in their broken windows

so staunch in their kingdom of ghosts

almost like holy breath

stuck in their chimneys

there will be no golden trumpet

when the world ends

no fallen angel to blame

only sound and sand covered toes

only fingers stockpiled with ready pebbles

and this moment (with you)

skimming against the quivering lake

skimming against the wake of summer