Behold.
The cup is full my love.
My ribs are now held close.
With silk so tender and nameless.
And your lips newly plumped.
Your skin perfect finally.
Pore less.

Take these paper memories, these fragile moons, break them for our bed.
Our perfect rest. A final mistake. 
Fear for the future. The past is not to come. 

Forever leathered throats and close knit bones. 
Drink tonight. 
It is only a carton away. 
The death of your insecurities. 

You drive by and smell the rot. 
By the creek, the timbers never cured. 

Forget the trees lining your sunset. 
Drink. Allow your beach to rise as you fall. 
Refresh again. 

Someone else. 
Peel away the layers and remove your face from this haunting. 
Step outside into the night's cold brilliance. 

Scream. 
Allow yourself to wake. And pretend for a pence that this is it. This is light. 
With your back against the ceiling. 
And again my eternity, with your back against the quilt. 
Sweat and tremble, awake in you what stayed weak. 

Control emotion in the room, wait for the paint to dry. 
A cold abyss grown darker with these moments at work. 
These hollows of warmth. 

I'm directing this and you are arriving with sickness. 
Just a puzzle eternal now. 
A walk on the beach chasing sand. 
Waiting for dust. 

Scream.