you’re always on a couch;
i’m always crawling across the floor

trying to get to your life raft.
the air down here is desperater.

at the heart of every hoard
is fear.

i am holding my breaths,
my swallows, my skin cells,

my orgasms.
i am an old soul

pushing past a curtain of
wind chimes.

through the swinging pieces
of glass you are the

air singing to
my fire.

how does one person
uphold so many lives

without un-raveling;
without un-becoming?

the incandescent smirk is
a sacrament.

we sit together and watch the
paint dry: ossified in octaves.


Photograph: Casa Batllo; Barcelona, Spain; designed by Antoni Gaudi; 1904-1906


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