I could barely stand to hold my head up

Thinking I’d be better off the grid

Cus I could only handle my own heaven

Yours was on another plane to his

Cherubim and seraphim and lyres

Old Berlin and synonyms for tired

Sinking in the car, I’d kick my floor in

Given all the stars it might be bliss

The pulp from the memoir you left this morning

Framed me in an orange, golden tint

And if only I had bought the tape recorder

Just to hear you say those words again

The way you just surrendered made it all the

Sweeter

I was yours

I melted then

You dropped it in and left it on the side

The bathing water’s half of chapter nine

Sistine blisters

I was cricking my neck out trying to see our drawings of choirs get born

Sixteen, shivers

I remember my legs shaking in my head while you were making your bed up next door

Caffeine rivers

Your letters, they read themselves in my head, I left them all on your doorstep that fall

Fifty winters

My sweater was red, you were growing your hair out, said you were fed up with it short

But we’re on to something now

Bliss redelivered

I thought we had said not to pull at that thread when you

Kissed me

My skin shed

I had figured instead we’d begin to accept that it wouldn’t get better anymore