1146

you came home
slept
said
what a thing to be sober
to be alive
and I
watched you from the spinning
ceiling with a rose
held softly
between my teeth
saying
what a thing to be alive
but the only thing
keeping us there
perished in a soft dream
you rose
grey and white
told the ceiling
one day I will die
isn’t that enough
and I responded silently
nodding along
of course
you’re absolutely right

the next day
underneath the tree
later cut down
you unfurled a quilt
laid down but changed
your voice
and caught the remaining
rain on your lips
honey
honey
what a thing to be alive

me
I stayed indoors
swapped my rose for a branch
covered in ink
wrote you a letter
but not a letter
because I never sent it
what a thing to never
stop seeing you in my sleep