I read your dreams like a newspaper
Your mind is like a magazine
And your thoughts are the classified section
Some people's hearts are like the tabloids
While others are National Geographic covers

Accept the arrangements you have agreed to
Why pretend to be disillusioned
By lovers and former relationships
God is both a child and a wild animal
Families demand our participation
True lovers lead by example
We are what’s left of the intangible
I am still a part of your council
Whenever love becomes another past participle

A constant state of pain
Covers up your insanity
What was made was made
But don’t give in to apathy

Deposits of rain soothe the pain
And you complain
That no one cares about you
The way you'd like them to
We are feathers
In the wind
Blowing through time
And space
We have no memory
Of breathing
Only fingers that grasp
At whatever is left of our identity
What remains of the Sun
Before it's gone
Into the underworld
We are all falling stars and captive hearts
And I promise to let you in
Closer than any person
Has ever come before you
As long as you promise
To never tell anyone
These secrets
That we are born from firm
Yet impermanent collisions
So let's get lost
In disorganized apartment buildings
This chaos determines our thirst
When we are no longer wearing shirts
And love is a poem that hurts
Whenever you read it

We keep it clean in bed
And leave our dreams behind us
The sprinklers are on
But the phone is off the hook
You shake with gratitude
And a looseness of character
And I object to being isolated
When you are to be quarantined
Alone with all your necklaces

How about a moment
To stop and think
And reflect upon our grieving
Love is a vision
Whenever its played
At a certain volume
Love has no edges
Because its only a projection
Do we keep ourselves locked away
As oil prices drop indefinitely
And the stars seem farther
From our eyes than ever
How are we coping in a quarantine
Or is this tyranny really for our safety
Upon our heads a plague
Or is it a pox of reason
I love the rhythm
Of watching you breathe
Maybe love is a machine
In need of a good oiling
We are spoiled and splayed out
Still there is no doubt
That whenever we really need to
We can’t seem to feel
Any of these feelings too deeply