I always die before we sleep,
a minute more in
which to keep you in my sight
a moment longer in your light.
I always die before we sleep
the way in which the deep night falls
as darkness calls me and I sink
into your eyes
I think that everybody dies
at least once but sometimes more
or what is this life of loving for.

he owned me and
I let him

So there is this curve finding its path, straightening.
And its lines stay, its shape changes.
A beating of youth's innocence.
The curve shivers,
cradles this loss in rigid angles.
Doorknobs above this plane twist and turn in strange resonance.
Light removes our square from its rest,
the curves recalls & falls in its haste.
Searching for new ground.

A page turns, a movement is here.

This hole opens, chambers become themselves thrice over.