risking the house on this game of chance, like a reckless headline: I'll lose everything just for a look.
If I ever drew you a treasure map,
close the closet to evade old bones
lead me only to the smallest moments —
a crucifix, the bathroom mirror
you watch me brush my teeth
like last soft proof of gravity.
orange leaves,
bright against a park of tired trees.
screen glow follows us under streetlights
as we step onto the sidewalk,
two witnesses to a city that keeps quiet
about the things that matter.
your thoughts,
your dreams, your mind — your twitching eyes held this life hostage, it would wither without, so I’ll meet you somewhere lighter,
somewhere between breaths.
I think of that night —
your eyelid under the city lights —
and I knew:
this is where I pour my life.
I no longer recognize a story I keep editing out of habit, for this forbidden essay
I was too afraid to read, but your name began bleeding into sentences.
in the early hour when
and I am unbearably lonely
and thoughts swim the dark like ink spills,
shadows clawing the walls inside my ribs
screaming at this night's wake
shaking this Rilkean heart
toward a clearing together:
right in the middle of a confusion
where rain falls
and everything sharply softens.
where smoke curbs the skyline.
fingers dim the lights.
this city is stuck in a rut,
until I walk with you again —
through the crowded streets,
my starlit, starlit sky.
