I woke up at angles with you
---a parallelogram, opposite but equal,
my thoughts in constant rotating view
---a diagram, showing us where
our homes are laid to rest,
where streets became dead spiders
caught in their own webs.

If we are in transit via tunnel,
aqueduct, or escalator,
it might be cinema.

If we lose atlas in the worship of light,
it might be cinema.

But I can't find you here;
here, where they used to build ships
from sand and steam
and science fiction;
where they used to design
buildings so as to create
a dissonant and mournful
whistling sound when wind
blew through them
---ostentatious things;
dead people’s things.

Through walls and underneath concrete, dug so deeply
into the wide plains
and withered, gnarled tree roots
of an agonizer's conurbation,
is a space halfway to the zenith,
charting the prescribed power
of in-betweenness.

Never again will we draw meaning from
our proximity to one another.

Born by the spellbound of love and destruction, held like a pretense of heartstrings. Each crevice is traced to you, it is heavenly bestowed.
I was lovelorn, following the trails of this uncertain path engraved deeply that leads to you.

Your eyes were pits of abyss,
a gravity force of unknown,
a precipice before the great fall;
the moment that I found you is when I lose myself.

II. Abyss
And at the end, we'll all just be stories
burrowed in my skin, on each pale flesh is draped with what could have lingered. adorned with a chrysalis on my chest, it cages the hollows of the abyss. Then soon I'll be a fleeting moment you carry in your heart.

There's nothing I can really own,
I ache at something that wasn't mine; no memories to recollect and no sound of voice that I could memorize, not even a light could stay within.

And even the sky changes its color, it doesn't even own the stars.

It was Sunday afternoon, and the time was moving steadily.  
My room is a solemn dusk as the skyline would summon a perfect storm. All I could hear was my blood, rapidly gushing, in a body that is a vessel of momentary waves; and I was idling, holding a ***** cup. Can I still even keep my coffee warm in my freezing hands? Forlorn by the sunlight, torn by a whimsical love.

And yet, I still keep you,
as I search for you on the shelves
as I look for you at the other side of the door.

This room is full of calamity, isn't it?

‘Aren’t you afraid of my darkness, my dear?’ Hades asked with mischief in his eyes.
‘No.’ Persephone replied, ‘You haven’t seen mine yet.’

We've built a house like we recognize each other's walls, we felt safe on every corner where we familiarize ourselves too well; it's the anatomy of us. Our limbs where we cling to were as fragile as the heart I sculpt its own cracks, This body is malleable, it just grew mimicking what the others have— the fragments of what I love, my flesh, my soul and my curve haven't left untouched.

I shouldn't have grown into you, like this body doesn't belong to myself anymore.