When the sun ends
with a quiet pop in deep space
will it happen to us

instantly, removing each ounce of heat?
I might be standing by the window
screaming into the sable sky,
our backyard fizzing as you sleep on
slightly despondent.
Or we are
on a drive to Florida
complaining of the snow
in our galoshes, the calm sea
these days and the cold sweat
soaking the collar
of your shirt.

And in the next millennia tourists on vacation
to wherever it is we end up
choking under the ice
will look at our cavemen replicas
stiffly holding one another,
cooing. How amazing that
at such early stages in existence,
Homo sapiens sapiens felt love.
The museum tour guide will correct this,
saying that it was simply for a last warmth

or that we were actually locked
in a bloody battle,
a monosyllabic conversation,
a primitive ape dance while we went.