After being killed by a falling jackfruit
(wrong place, right time)
a man fell in love with a woman
who had died after being struck
by one—two—THREE falling coconuts.
They sat together on the edge of the cliff,
holding hands and dangling their legs over
while drinking the juice of the sublime.
He never said a word to her.
She never said a word to him.
It was the best thing either of them had ever known,
and they were both too happy to feel the sadness of this.
It was unclear—to him, to her—
whether she was in love with him.
And so what?