we were in a moving vehicle
that was not a train or a plain or a boat
and she was the one with the control
and i was one with the scratched up vocal chords
because i wanted to pull your strands
until your eyelashes swept across your reversed eyelids
and your breathing changed.
she threw her blue red knuckles into everything
and we were not at a red stop light
and we were not at a yellow slow light
and we were not at a green go light.
we were at a dark road
in between cemeteries
in between bridges
in between where i release all of the carbon dioxide from my rib cage
with the force of a thousand french horns
and i whisper like a schizophrenic
to the decomposition and greed and dirt.
i only hope that because i have established a relationship with death
that it will be kind to me when i beg
more than i have ever begged before.