be able
to tell you.
how long it takes to count
each breathe between us and
you became numb and eyes
became dust and dust becomes
our empty home.
i tire your cuticles; you
are free from this empty
bed.
my chest beats further away from
your drums and closer together
with my mine not me
my
mine not me.
rhythm of her hair and
coils from her skin gold
from her brows and heaven
in her glass torso;
you should have held
me closer and let the
walls die on purpose.
