The night is built from circuitry and solder. When I lie next to you and feel the warmth of your biology, dreams become cinematic, technicoloured, the score, polyphonic
There are no clocks in my house, I can’t bear the thought of passing-time knowing it’s time not spent with you and the seconds and the minutes and the days pass by like clouds
On last request, I ask you this: hold me like we’re lost at sea, hold me as if thunder raptures, capture, never set me free. When the winter coats the orchard,
Misery is sitting in a rented room on a borrowed bed, a cold slab, preoccupied with an illness no cough mixture, no laboratory can fix. I don’t sleep anymore,