The Vault (a poem and prose collection)

Eleven

people like us darling don't do things
named after love;
we don't do valentine dates
or fancy romantic dinners;
we don't do ferris wheel kisses
nor reaching hands in theatre seats.

people like us darling don't do
things that equates to love.
we're only two people
woven by the universe's will
when it's sad
and chaotic
and bleak.
like it always is.

we're just two people made from
shipwrecks and freight trains
and crash landings.

you're the kind who would
escape from his skin
and i will worship you for it
while i am the kind who would
rip her chest open
and you will write me a eulogy for it.

we met in a rendezvous
of misunderstood sighs and
misfit jigsaw puzzles.
we kissed as if we can find
the kind of shelter
we couldn't find in ourselves.

people like us don't do love.
people like us only break
and melt
and ache in loop.
people like us don't do love,
because we're the kind
that doesn't know how to.
we're the kind that's just short of it.

— nana, "poems addressed to the sunset"