Half my time is spent
in boiler rooms,
sculpting frozen thoughts with fire.
And half my time is spent
splashing about in water
trying to dissolve these
salty memories.
Dream shadows open unlocked doors,
as I lay watching thin,
bare footsteps bend with wooden floors,
and I continue to forget our conversations.
I believe they steal them away
when they leave,
pack them in cigar boxes,
sit on leather chairs,
and smoke them alone in air-conditioned rooms.
I can feel the blood spread in my brain,
and the filament of tired eyes
stringing eyelash to eyelash
as I lie in lace to sleep -
because sleep is where I find you-
it is where we used to be -
and as I reach for your heart,
I squeeze,
and listen to you smile.
