It is quiet, the night. Thoughts
are falcons, my heart is...

We, right here, in
the furthest east...

The bruises are
disappearing...

I wonder if death
takes us to the sun...

This city is a sad play,
with the most bone-chilling...

Fear is two heavy palms
pressing wrathfully...

I smile to myself remembering
that one time I convinced you to taste...

It was a fickle afternoon.
Up on the roof of your sixth floor apartment...

We were not bowerbirds
boasting a secluded coast...

It's a crying toddler
that's not yours, but...

Dig deep. The quiet
days are still there...

We're lying down,
two naked, shameless bodies...