At least I can go home if I want to. I can wash away all the earthquakes but I choose being crumbled instead. Glad you are here. You are watching me swell as I go closer to death. Is it so comfortable in my head--I think not--you do not leave me even when your body does?

This is more okay than nothing at all. I know what nothing at all means. That only means me when I am not anywhere and have nowhere to go, that only means you when you are nowhere yet everywhere but here. I am sad, too, when I had to accept that the soil, sand, sea--that all of it was you.

Was it really you, or just was the sky this blue before you left? Was it pure, or was it bitter? You sing and smoke and we talk. You smile, I stop, heart stops, flow stops, and I really have nowhere to go. If only that had tasted salty yet sweet, at least I had my own tongue. Though none of the papillae now matters.