the sound of a soul

i would walk back to you; through these fresh suburbs

(these fresh suburbs i can’t yet claim as my own)

all kissing

and being kissed 

by the morning dew & the kindness of your friends who stand like streetlamps.

i’d run

one day 

only from things like desire & mornings & self-fulfilling prophecies.

[just waiting 

for you to breath into my lungs 

verity; the kind you found amidst those yawning 

mountains] for now,

& i ended up breathing in a chill far colder than i had ever experienced

take whatever’s clutched in your palm,

that thing that reeks of a false love; a true tenderness

& shove it underneath your pillow 

& sheets freshly changed

& listen to the beat of a heart of someone you don’t know as you drift into sleep

& wait for dawn to draw its bow

i will throw my heart into the void

just to ensure that no one

except fate

early december tiding into your veins; you’re drunk and you think you’ve fallen

in love with the strange memory of

a stranger’s warmth;

in a sea of melancholy,

holding onto nothing

but the most precious of my goldfish

memories, drifting in dark space,

What would be easy for me to say: the golden half light spilling through the room was so beautiful; the way we had spun cocoons around each other with black ink and cigarette smoke; the fingerprints we left on the crime scene of passing time.