Like young lovers—where too much talking shortens the romance
and where it too was never worth the risk to say goodbye.
The fire no longer burns the same but I still want to
hear what your eyes scream.

And my problem is that loneliness and I are best friends;
when I go outside it is with
the birds,
the clouds,
the chalk within this pavement
where I have my own cheap conversations.

We can pass through the days like a series of jump-cuts
and nothing between us changes,
and we lay together as victims of this dark road,
listening to the trickling of rainfall down our windows
coming into our world where we no longer live in.