the morning after

as if we live temporarily in moments of intensity, yearning to fulfill every ounce of desire, pulling ourselves into each other's gravities, finishing with an insatiable sensation of substance, of an utter sense of purpose.

but somewhere

amidst the rising sun and cleansing morning dew, memories lapse with new demands of the coming days, causing us to bow our heads and turn our shoulders, diverging to establish resurfacing physical laws:

that which pulled becomes that which pushes.

Just as who we are becomes who we were.

it's the morning after, 

and all that we can do

is bridge that which ached us into submission with the mundane remains.