Wake up. The body next to you is yours. The body you are in is yours. They are both on lease–one from heartache, one from death. Here, let us take solace in the light of morning, in the smell of smoke, in the sound of fabric moving. The shape of your mouth on my face will keep the world at bay, for a moment.
When men sleep, their souls nest in their shoulders, fluttering through collarbone and scapula, wire’s glow and muscle’s sheen. I link my fingers with the tendrils of sleep and this sweet pacing lulls me. I am always on fire, I am always on fire.