Lead the way to any cave, my ghost. The cold sand means nothing under nails or collar; I wonder where we are and you ask if it matters. How one fractured pavement could lead to this, I’ll never understand. I thought we saw things clearly from our chair by the beer pong table, but from one dying beast to another, I’ve been told to keep my life in a tapestry and my love in a knot.

Bottom’s up.

Could you see what a paradox city we wrote? I’m full now, take me home and empty me under closer moons. You step around my toes, but I cry either way. I find shadows and excuses to kiss everywhere I go. Once, you tried to coax me down from the ceiling: “Sell your song to me, or better yet your sanity.” The farthest I could move was onto the shelf. “Cancel all subscriptions and order-ins,” I said, “My hair is down for you.”