We collide--
Hot and cold front
vortex manifests.

Pulled in-

Like a tug on a work-a-day tie
at the entryway--
Passion melts dirty, winter snow
grit dimpling our backs.
Or over the back of the hideous floral print couch:
Promised patterns left imperfect.
No time to wait spontaneous on the kitchen table,
one leg too short
our salient grunts
accompanied by a
thump,
thump,
thump.

And released.

Destroyed?
From a trifling torrent of torment?
No.
Over and over until no longer colliding
We merge.

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