Falling In Love With A Catastrophist

There is fire in my bones and lightning

in your lungs. When we kiss it’s like

a thunderstorm. Two tectonic plates­

crash against each other and

somewhere in the world starts

quaking. Seismic waves are quicker

than calling. Continental drift is the

earth’s defence mechanism for

commitment. Static electricity, like

miscommunication, is simply friction

in motion. I am crushing sandstorms­

between my teeth, breathing in

hurricanes like oxygen, swallowing

the volcanic ash of survival; to think

we are all made of liquid love and

some will never feel the force of a

tsunami. Sometimes I am stuck

in the eye of a tornado, others I am

spinning in it. Either way, we are a

whirlwind of skin and bone; flesh and

blood; bruises and scars. Laying in

the fresh rubble of our own creative

destruction, I realise, our love is an

oxymoron; a natural disaster; a

phenomenon scientists could only

dream of understanding.