the lights have been out
your skin is invisible under your pajamas
and mine in my pale coat
as i lay my cumbersome mass along your body

and you float out of it.

i ruin sanctity,
incorporeality

i am so afraid of it

i am thinking about your *******
and all your tiny, spiral nerve endings
oh, i want to make you dizzy
i want to make you twirl and scream and sigh

but instead i will hold your face in my palm
pressing my nose to yours,
head bobbing stagnant against you

and i will do nothing

you loved him as a space traveller
and i saw you as a satellite

and where i looked and saw lines
you saw triangles and squares and galaxies.

i am filled with it

and if there is life in space, i hope somewhere
there is a planet more comfortable than this

ive seen you
throw back your head
and wail silently

i heard you
trace triangles
up your arm

and ive seen you
sleep
motionless,
and growling

and ive seen you
motionless

i will never
again,
i will never again

the trap, i think,
is letting your body trick you
into believing that there
could possibly be
anything more interesting going on

the trap
is to let an artist tell you
that any poem can improve on silence

or that there is anywhere else in the world
but the soft pink where her lip
melts into her chin

we waste life chasing infinity
but god, its this!
not these
its this

tallness of order
and tall chaotic
we hate because we have loved
and we love
like we have no other choice

a leaf sitting on a cushion of air
and o, i am falling again