Every time I see you, friction fills the air.

It is so thick; I can cut it with a knife.

It is there squeaking, squawking, rubbing, and

grinding its very last strength, trying to prevent

a smooth motion, causing wear and tear producing

so much heat that it can set anything aflame.



I remember the first time we met in that classy

hotel in Cancun, you in your bathing suit and sunglasses.

Natural forces brought us close together and

we collided in that hotel room and on the balcony

for three days, produced plenty of friction and heat,

and generated plenty of wear and tear.



Now, we can’t even look at each other. Friction just

pours out of our teeth every time we open our mouth,

tearing each other’s flesh, grinding each other’s bone,

producing plenty of a different kind of heat.



At this moment, your friction is staring me down,

wearing me out. I am exhausted. Your friction keeps

on irritating me, producing a lot of heat and anger,

pinching on my nerve, and this heat is not dissipating

anywhere. I swear if we don’t get away from each other,

one of us will combust and explode.