#tlt coded

“Gesture, Undefined.”

We built a house that

Wasn’t there,

Only thresholds.

It was soft, shivering,

Too alive to be architecture.

We began, I think,

In the marrow,

Something small and ancient,

A hairline crack

In the jaw of want.

Your hand on mine

Was something I failed to register

Before realizing it meant here.

Elbow-deep in constellations,

We scraped the ceiling

Of the body

For stars long extinct.

I whispered to you, a hymn,

Words bled from parchment.

You taste of iron and old paper

And the secrets beneath ink.

My ribs stayed open

To let the rafters breathe.

The floor plan changed

Every time you looked.

We were silent,

Mouths full of borrow:

Your wrist, my spine,

A memory of unearned ache.

When Armageddon came

It found us dismantled,

Taken in by the roots

Of what happens next.

Your teeth left shapes in me.

My breath collapsed your lungs.

When and if it ended,

I found a feather in my mouth

And a key buried in my chest.

I do not know

Who gave them to me.

You smiled like