Past All That -- a post-finale poem

by diehard

Past All That

We are past common sense.
Past the place where we
could have been good poetry.

We leave a trail of scorched earth,
starlight bodies, strange science.

Ghosts, we've come to find,
are always with us.

Pistol grip in hand, we kiss.
Promise to love until the end of days,
which may be tomorrow.

Tangling limbs, speaking in tongues,
creating a new world in bed,
in case we cant save this one.

And we run.

Were on a mission.
And we know no ones got our backs.

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