I don't remember if it was
two or three, the hour of the
night (morning) or the times you
said that you'd like to be nowhere
anywhere, tall places, submerged
locales, you said you wanted to share
these spaces with me, you wanted to share
those places.

I tried to breathe on cue
with the rise and fall of your
chest, but your breath fell irregular
with gasps and sighs like a rollercoaster.
Your arms fell at your sides on top of my arms
at my sides.

What is that noise?
There's a crying baby and a
scratching sound -- the record
needle catching dust in the groove --
and footsteps and water from the hallway
skipping into solace
in this glowing, blanketed fortress
where we hide, grinning.