The world ends in a kiss.
It is soft and stirring and the catalyst of it all.
The aesir's lips depart, warmth fleeting.
Loki flickers out of sight,
leaving the warrior alone and shocked.
At night, perched in the palace's tower,
Loki touches his lips,
savoring the lingering taste.
The world ends in an embrace.
It is long and consuming and
fuels their inevitable destruction.
Thor pulls the jotun close,
a wall of muscles promising protection.
Loki gives in, but only this once,
only for him.
He cannot let this continue.
The world ends in their fathers' outrage.
Odin screams and rages and snarls.
The king promises war if such
dalliances are not stopped.
Laufey is calm and still and merely twitches.
The ruler promises banishment if the
disgrace does not cease.
The world ends between the bed sheets.
Loki coils and snakes against the prince.
There are kisses and embraces and love.
Twin daggers are plunged in their guts.
Their breath passes away into the night,
together in the end.
The world ends in stolen glance
between a traveling warrior and wild prince.
Destined, intertwined, forever weaved into this dance.