our favorite melodies fall from your ceiling,
sink into your tired spine with the velocity of hot knives,
the miles are malicious,
and your distant relatives are borderline *******.

our only picture of us together is lit
on your laptop screen,
you trace my prematurely aging face,
you miss the energy of the night,
we loved each other to confessional pieces.

we have tripped the trap door,
my amber-eyed love.
we have tripped the trap door,
and we may be falling fiercely,
but the harmony of our joyous screaming
over our pulse's ground rhythm,
is the only sound I ever need.