elevator silence
i’ll never ask, not again and the shortness of your breath is a temporary distance away from those shallow roads, those shallow nights in blind love with lonesome or the fragility our bodies spoke below thirty two degrees you will start your voyage at my shoulders, just to end up more than half-way around the widowed moon, under the alienation of an always asleep sky but i still wonder if we are perfectly symmetrical strangers hibernating in the lukewarm summer morning of shared bedsheets and the mourning, the mourning i still have for you i cannot replace your vocal chords with ceiling fan hums, there is too much existence between the four corners of space cradling this blackened atmosphere draped across our blistered limbs dense, we are dense and made out of thousands of emptied constellations -
you told me so.
