Off-Beat, by Alexa Wescott

He required the bitter cold, 
The touch of ice made him whole, 
He hated warmth of any sort, 
That’s why he was alone, 
What a surprise to not love another, 
Until tragic demise, 
He had learned the bitter loss, 
The needles in his heart, 
Pricked like rose thorns on thick vines,
For in frigid conditions he remembered, 
A sentiment, 
To his frozen heart. 

She had tan skin,
The sun’s radiance was in the palm of her hand, 
Buried in forced artificial heat, 
Teased by subtle breeze, 
She lays there in sweat, 
To feel her pulse, 
Desiring the sound,
Of rapid obligatory beats, 
Not the space between, 
She hoped for it not to stop, 
A sentiment,
To her wind up heart. 

When the heatwaves changed course, 
Accommodations were made, 
Flights reminding them of a forever vacay, 
An escape due to circumstance, 
Never standing in one place, 
Never to experience all of the seasons, 
Nor another common face, 
Relying on things out of control, 
To take over them whole, 
In an ongoing stymie life, 
To sacrifice their own self interest,
To outlive their time. 

They would meet while crossing paths 
A simple touch could never last, 
For when within reach, 
Their hearts desired a single direction, 
Their stability was second to necessary, 
Their hearts off beat, 
Yet tied in sync, 
Until they both lay dead of what once was, 
Undesirable things.