Past All That

Past All That–Post-Finale poem

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 can’t save this one.

And we run.

We’re on a mission.
And we know no one’s got our backs.