as intimacy is our lie,
would you hold my hand?
would you breathe for me?
you statue

i hold the door closed because
i know you stand outside
alone, you living statue
you real
living statue

i can hear your lungs fill
outside the door
(because you do not exist
i can pull blood from a stone
and if you find me empty,
bloodless, you will know)

this is the death
of ideals; romance only
the laughter on our tongues