Cappuccino Sunset

Volcanoes rise on the red check chessboard of life entrenched in the hopelessness of romance. Lava lamp pieces manipulated to check then mate, a burning desire to copulate, ejaculate, physically communicate. Below the insubstantial surface froth, bitter black fluid inadequately tempered by brown sugar grains seeps into our hearts, our brains. It matters not an atom when the sun sinks down spreading sweeping crimson shadows across the map of the human heart. God is old hat, reclined on a celestial candy-striped deckchair, sadistic and out of touch. The truth, what truth is that? Is it feasible, is it possible to love and want love too much?