shouts from the mezzanine.

my skin needs you

when we fall asleep with the windows open
at 4am when the world is on mute
the air is a crisp, raw type of cold
the blanket that envelopes us can't get any more important
I try to convince myself that I don't love you

because I can't need anyone again
not like that

I find my way to the opening and close it down
cover it with makeshift drapes so
we get a slight reprieve from the eventual sun
I urinate and return;
my limbs jigsaw into yours
back under where it's eternally warm
and my heart
almost
feels safe once again
we've got a few more hours before this is over, so I'll pretend like I'm still able
I'll press my lips against your unconscious body
and I'll be carried away

no one likes not being able to dream

flag-waver. black. nothing left in his lungs.

emphatically pausing
jingoist of the heart
all things red, heavy red
like as if the world was weighed down by blood rushing to its skin
eschewing all things corporeal for a goddamn fantasy
acted out in three parts
get real, get really real
get so real you stop dreaming and start planning your funeral

baby you're a door frame with no walls on either side
what's the point
I loved you until the fortifications broke and the invaders rushed in
I loved you until I heard narration about us in the background every time we were together
your words now are so saddeningly ambiguous
they are destined for the daytime television you love so much

it seems that we
as a people
are fearful of becoming something special
together or apart

I'm aghast at the thought of not being /ABLE/ to let you go