There was this couple, both had black hair
 and both their eyes were burning from living
            within rainforests and volcanoes.

One is slightly taller than the other. 
One slips their hand around the other.
Holding hands in the middle of a road,
“Are you satisfied with all this fervor,
caressing our faces, darkening our heads?”
the tall one asked.

            The short one asked,
“would you like to cross left
or cross right?”

Drafts of hot air from passersby, 
a breezing heat snuffed out their burnt faces.
“Yes,” said the tall one. “Yes,” said the short one.

Their faces were gleaming, they became
the most hazardous light in the street.
The passersby then honk their vehicles.

But the couple had the most obnoxious, loudest, 
conversation in between these two lanes.
Now they have hair that is already grey.
“I am tired,” whispered the short one.
They both are no longer holding hands.
“I am awake,” whined the tall one.

But, no longer do they have to choose:
Were they want to put their face
in a bed or in a casket?