Until the sun takes a flaming shit

I think I need to take better care of myself,
because I want to be the last person on earth.

Pretty ambitious, if I do say so myself.

The sun will burn out in, oh,
four, five billion years;
but in a mere three billion years,
the oceans will boil up in a swan song;  
a final cloudy testament that
we ... were here.

I need to be here when that happens.

We left a mark beyond the landfills,
deeper than the filth and the scourges

More than a mark,
I think we left some
strange pocket of exhale,
a litany of unsaid words
trapped beneath our surface,

and I know with the unfailing certainty
a little girl knows
fireflies are magic
and wishes come true,
those unsaid words
are going break through
in a geyser of small whisper-touches
never given,
never said.

I want to fucking be here
in a few billion years,
press my face to the ground
as it sears away my skin,
and scream triumph
as witness to
that last mist,
last breath of earth,
last dying kiss

as my blood boils,
I’m going to press my ear
to the ground,
so I can hear it,

hear it freed.

Hear that the last human voice
in the universe
is mine.

and the last words
at the end of all time
are I love you...

I’m going to need to get my ass
on a treadmill,
start a raw diet or
get some high colonics done
or something

in order to stick around long enough
to tell the stars
to remember

to fucking remember

of all the faded tomes of romantic bullshit,
only the echo of your
lips insinuating themselves
between mine
lasted;

only you carried
through
every
known
moment