12.1

[So, I wrote a poem about two people who don't know each other having sex, and I'm very proud of it and it's technically proficient and mildly interesting. Too bad for you that you'll never read it.]

So, once the fire of you had leached out every liquid contained in my hot sack of self, I began to wish that by drinking you in I could sate the thirst my nervous sweat had thrown out with wild abandon. Sadly, I'm going to die, now. When your magnificent haircut hides the single tear you'll shed at my wholly unexpected funeral, I hope for the universe's sake that karma guides the droplet to my yawning grave.