girl swirls dreams in her drink.
boy spills ink on the carpet.

they swing below an oak;
laugh and dream, kiss and consider.
their feet curl, intertwine,
touch along the fallen leaves.

in hands and time
is the condensation of what is said to be true love.
only they don’t know.

later that night;
they drink and cuss, they fight and ****.
their feet curl, intertwine,
play at the end of the sheets.

they warm.
boy writes librettos,
girl reads them,
together they cook delicious dishes.

girl disappears into the distance,
one day.
& boy spirits away,
to the elephant burial grounds.

days,
months,
years later, they run into eachother on the streets
of a northwestern city.
smile mostly,
say not much.

boy has his poetry.
girl has her *******.

this: when your stomach
                                     hurts,
and you can't remember why you were ever happy and
           nothing is really even important,
                           especially yourself;
and you just sleep because you can't cope
                                                 and the sky is so beautiful,
but you can't feel sun dripping on your skin,
         and your bones are numb with electricity,
                             but it's just rubber,
               and you can't do anything,
ANYTHING.
           anything, because you're you and nobody else can be you,
       and the world is there to look at, so full of pretty things,
but, why look?

and it doesn't matter if there's somebody or nobody
                                                                or everybody, by your side,
because it's just this permanent moment
                           when the sharpness in your body is a droplet:
           it hits the ground and wrenches itself into shapes,
         patterns that coalesce,
      you are enraptured, the sight is burning
    into your retinas the emptiness that is
being.
   the glacier that is your soul tills white light and branches out,
      this creature that is cold and full,
               folly with soft ears and sharp teeth.

                             *****
                 patches of grass
         the birds are landing in your branches now
       congregational hazards
     social anxiety
       disillusioned, giving in
  but you don't mind the rest, there's only:
-you're on earth, and
-she's a star, and

stellar beings never come closer.

not for a moment.
they enjoy all views, from afar;
             witness your retching in a
          sad spectrum slideshow
       the bile spills out, tumbling
       across the sidewalk made
     out of her tied veins
   she is no god
we are free
   be empty
listlessly dragging stones
be empty