There are ghosts in the kitchen cabinets
and Ophelia swims in the sink
you lean against the counter tapping nails against the cold granite
like nails on a chalkboard
like nails running up and down my spine
we are not even hungry, we can't be
not for this
but I'll still bite your lip in the fluorescent light flickering above us
the moths that crept in under the doorway knock against the lamp
the sound of wings against glass
they're so in love with the light that they'll set themselves on fire
and I see your hand on the stove but you don't even flinch
you've always been so warm
there are cracks in the linoleum under our bare feet
we know better than to trip
but no one can stop a grease fire so we find ourselves falling
falling
falling