I can’t stand endings. I hate them.

beginnings are undoubtedly the most exciting
morning sex as hot as the Sicilian sun
sticky skin and damp duvets
wrapped in each other, until the final moment
shall we meet tomorrow? and afterwards?
I never want to leave.

middles are confusing
shall we have some fun, honey? position one or four, darling?
one less kiss before bed,
the sweetness turns vapid
that feeling of time not feeling as deathly short,
as it used to...

Endings are just an existential calamity
the bedroom like a Canadian winter
A place where only webs and luminescent eyes reside
within the dark,
a void of what once was
a crisis of what now will be,
some other romantic will stick to their skin
while you must remain graceful and quiet
like those thoughts don’t appear while you try be thoughtless making a cup of tea
at least I can learn from it?
but who really cares?
they last longer than beginnings, not for the bubbly reasons
I can’t stand endings. I hate them.