The two of us in her apartment, a wine bottle holding dearly onto stagnant air, the piano player played a song that told me the moon was weak in her knees. That when she slipped, head too heavy,
I caught her as sleep would a dream
and washed her back,
her porcelain wounds,
in the blindfolded sea.
I took to carving crescents.
I fed the waning tide.
She turned to peeling minutes.
So softly she did die.
And a stubble of applause,
the discordant final notes,
applause, applause.
The piano player turned to me,
her full white smile
ready to faint,
my fingers sneaking tremors.
We unfurled as fogged light.
Falling open,
She turned I took
minutes waning soft
We, two oceans spilling,
two bodies sifting
sinking keys
sing a broken blue.
