she is beautiful and charming,
she is red and bloody and she is a dream.
he strokes a hand along her cheek,
pale with death, pale with blood loss,
and her breaths are shallow,
she breathes in the stars,
her lips drip constellations
there are legends of the woman who was fire,
of the person who was so bright
that she burned herself up from the inside.
she is beautiful and dangerous,
all supple curves and wide hips,
all contained fury and missile heart.
he is sharp and composed,
he is black and clean and he is a hallucination.
she lifts shaking hands above him,
his eyes endless with shadowed corners,
and he is a white handkerchief soiled with dirt,
he is swallowed by the earth,
and buried six feet under by the sky.
there are stories, untraceable rumours,
about the man who was wild and unstoppable,
who ran himself thin like a threadbare rug.
he is sharp and vicious,
all straight lines and solid cuts,
all gray gunshot and pistol gut.
her mind whispers maliciousness like a lover whispers secrets
his body speaks violence like a baby speaks nonsense
they are twin assassins,
a harbinger of pain and darkness,
they call death and expect it to come
ringing at the front doorbell.
people dare not touch their
pointed chins, high cheekbones,
for fear of coming away with their
fingers stained a wet crimson.
they are grim reapers in the metaphysical sense,
they are sharp and dangerous,
they are nothing anybody's ever seen before,
and one day they will burn the world down behind them,
leave the city like a bullet leaving the muzzle of a gun
and when they do,
humanity will never be the same.