skin regenerates itself every twenty-seven days. perhaps that is why you tear into me, relentless; we chase every glimmer of permanence. teeth breaking sinew, breaking bone. i have never stopped you. here, the bruises i leave in echo: in the shape of my lips, ghost of my fingertips, closing around the hollow of your throat. at time's end, you are always the unreachable entity i have finally grazed with my hands; i will always be the speck of dust in your eye. everything here is built for collapse. the collective amount of chaos in the world inevitably increasing — we are alone, then we are not. and then we are a system so entangled we feel the other's slightest tremble, across eons and a distance we may only measure in years. spaces between us expanding into eternities. disorder around us dismantling into disarray. there is a law that forbids mass from being created or destroyed, so i am always rearranging myself into parts of you that remember my name. but i am only one, and every part of you feels like coming home. i am here, i am there, and you are everywhere. in my dream, i am not insignificant. i am not trivial, an indivisible unit of matter. i want to hear my blood thrumming in your veins. i want my fingers on your skin, like meteors skidding. i want you to cram yourself into parts of me. our weights coalescing, until i collapse into myself, until i fall through the spacetime continuum. i will swallow all the light, kiss you with a mouth full of every sun. i will bring you into the depths. i will ruin you. there is an order to certain things in this world: the earth revolves around the sun, every action demands an equal and opposite reaction, and it has always been me drowning in the pull of your gravity. on the twenty-seventh day, the universe remains ensnared in orbit; history resumes its litany of cycles and i am not afraid, of the vicious.