Plastic, fantastic lovers
they are the plastic, fantastic lovers.
The ones who feed off each other
The ones who can’t sleep without each other
The ones who create life together

They are the plastic, fantastic lovers.
shielded by the force of electricity between their flesh
Muscles aching for a touch, just one, just one touch, a touch full of color.
A touch, made of intensity, and infrangibility, uncontrollable by their need for fervor
They are the plastic, fantastic lovers.

Drawing shapes of time and space,
filling up pages with the teeth and eyes of monsters
pastel dust crawling on the floor, and buzzing through the air.
Lungs filled, the dust is their force field,
surrounded by creativity, bound by their desire.
They are the plastic, fantastic lovers.

One foot, two feet, three feet, four feet,
participating in their own twister game,
his feet, wettening by their closeness,
her legs, three days post-shaving, tickling their tissue
the lovers don’t move, they don’t need to, they physically can’t.
The bed is their safe spot, home plate, a place intangible to anyone except for
the plastic, fantastic lovers.

A sunny day, she wakes up, knowing she shattered everything.
Tears, seamlessly streaming, staining her pale-stricken cheeks,
words stumbling out of her mouth, in a painful gibberish.
He, letting go of her hand, cannot forgive
wind breaking them apart, and the sun closing in on them
They know it is the end, he has no choice, dignity was what he grew up on
time and space filling up with dread and heat
A vehemence only hot enough to melt plastic,
Melt the plastic between the fantastic lovers.
They were the plastic, fantastic lovers.